


Howdy Neighbor

by Talkin_to_a_Lady



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Love, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady
Summary: You find moving into your new home much easier as you receive a helping hand from an attentive and eye-catching neighbor.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & You, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 29
Kudos: 143





	1. Howdy Neighbor!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yourealrightgurrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yourealrightgurrrl/gifts), [McTagster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McTagster/gifts).



> Modern-day AU where Arthur works in construction and lives next door.
> 
> Written for two very lovely friends of mine.

‘Exhausted’, wasn’t quite the right term for it; ‘drained’ may be better you think as you drag your tired limbs out of bed, batting your phone off the table as the alarm honks and blares out at you.  
Moving is tough, especially when you had very little help, and had been living out of a ski lodge chalet as a temporary home until the house sale went through. Plus working full days split between the local ranches and the Elk Refuge, leaving you a maximum of exactly five hours of undisturbed sleep a night, unless you were on call, was not the best way to feel revitalised.  
“At least it’s the end of a _very long week_ ,” you mumble to yourself as you blindly scrabble for your phone, turn its ringer off and scrub your face roughly to wake up. You scan the room with a sigh; anything not covered in unpacked boxes was bare; the only things easily accessible were your pile of worn work clothes and the single foldaway bed you’d borrowed from a work colleague, while you waited on yours to be delivered. The summer sun streams through your makeshift towel-curtains, and you realise you barely know what the grounds of your home look like since moving in; having been in an almost zombie-like state between working and sleeping the past week.  
You trudge to the kitchen and set up the coffee pot before brushing your teeth at the kitchen sink, “Because _why wouldn’t_ the removal guys put the box labelled ‘ _Bathroom_ ’ in the Kitchen?” Another mutter to yourself. You stare at the toothpaste-foamed mess of a reflection in your Kitchen window, “I need to speak to anything that isn’t me or an animal.” You finish washing and go to sniff-test your work clothes to find the least offensive smelling outfit, opting for a vest top and denim coveralls tied at the waist to try and off-set the summer heat. You go back to the coffee pot and take a moment before realising you’re about to be late for work. You pour as much of the drink into a travel cup, pull on your Caterpillar boots, scrabble desperately to gather your notes, files and keys, and bundle your way out the front door.  
“Ah! Fuck _shit_!” you grumble through your teeth as you tussle to balance your files and coffee between your arm and your chest while trying to reach the keyhole to lock your door.  
“G’Mornin’.” A gravelly, amused voice greets you from your left, “Ain’t a fan of takin’ two trips?”  
You whip your head around to see a tall broad man smirking through a cigarette as he stands in his front garden, shirtless, watering roses.  
“I-I’m late.” You manage a little breathlessly.  
“And I’m Arthur, Arthur Morgan,” he reaches an open palm to you before realising a handshake isn’t viable, leaving him to give you an awkward wave.  
You nod in return, tell him your name and huff a small, embarrassed chuckle through your nose as you get lost in the sight in front of you; Arthur Morgan is a man of natural breadth; his frame is sturdy with the strong shape of a hardworking man. It takes a lot for you to avoid gawking at the definition stretched out across his tanned, taut torso. You go back to wrestling with the various paraphernalia in order to lock your door.  
“You okay there?”  
“Yes.”  
“You look like you could use a hand.”  
“I’m fine, Mister Morgan, thank you,” you huff and stress as you continue to struggle, just wishing to end the embarrassment of your entire life as it continues in front of your new, very distracting, neighbour.  
“Come here.” You turn to see him chuckling as he leans over the fence, his right hand stretching towards you, “I ain’t gonna bite ya, just give you a hand.”  
He beckons with his open palm and you sigh and shuffle towards him, putting on some sort of balancing act with the stuff in your arms.  
“… May I…?” he nods towards the coffee cup nestled against your chest and clears his throat awkwardly as he reaches to carefully lift it from you.  
“Thank you,” you sigh as you rearrange your files into a steady bundle at the crook of your elbow, to free up your hands. You finally lock your door and return to collect your travel cup.  
“Oh… er, uhm... You-err- might need to change before work…” He rubs the back of his neck as he glances towards the neckline of your vest top where a rapidly cooling patch of coffee seeps through to your skin.  
“ _Jeeesus_.” You complain, throwing your head back with exasperation, “Oh well. A great start to the day all round! Thanks, Mister Morgan,” you take your drink and rush back to your Jeep.  
“It’s Arth-”  
“I hope your day is better than mine!” You slam your door and fly out of the driveway.

Arthur shakes his head and smiles at the whirlwind that had just departed. He turns off the hose and reels it back, “ _well, she certainly makes an impression_.” He mutters with a chuckle, looking back towards the road you just tore down. This hadn’t been the first time he’d seen you, and your first impression had already left somewhat of an imprint, he thought back to last Saturday.  
It had been a long time since Arthur had slept in his own bed; working on and off for two months across the almost complete opposite side of Wyoming for VDL Construction. Ready to get some final time off, he drove through the night to be home again; stripped his clothes as he shut the front door; leaving them in a dirt-crusted pile in the hallway, climbed the stairs with heavy legs and slumped on the top of his bed like a starfish; asleep before he landed.  
It couldn’t have been more than three hours before he was rudely awakened by the sound of a reversing truck’s revving engine. He ripped open one eye and scowled towards his curtains, “ _who in the hell is that?!_ ” he grumbled, burying his head under his pillow, “ _goddamn folk **it’s a Saturday!**_ ”  
As the slams of doors and truck shutters hit his ears, he wrenched himself out of bed, stretching his aching limbs as he stomped towards the window. He stared down, out through a small gap in the curtains, “ _Guess the sale finally went through._ ” He mumbled as he saw your battered old Jeep pull into the driveway with a U-Haul trailer attached. His interest was piqued when he saw you jump down from the driver’s seat; your hair piled in a mess on top of your head, you were dressed in an open flannel shirt and faded Johnny Cash t-shirt which floated lightly at your hips, above the dangerously short frayed denim cut-offs hugging the top of your bare, tanned legs which flowed into your scuffed Timberland boots. He watched you go about the arrival at your new home; taking a selfie outside your front door; your excited smile stretched across your face, before you went to greet the removal men and start doling out instructions. Torn between wanting to offer a hand, and utter exhaustion, he was stuck to his spot as he watched you heave the U-Haul open and begin hefting boxes through your front door alongside the men, “ _hmm. Her fella must be workin’._ ”. He muttered as he dropped the curtain back and shuffled to bed, dragging the cover over himself, slinging an arm over his eyes and drifting back to sleep.  
Though he’d heard you come and go at all hours, that had been the last time he’d seen you for the week, until today.

As the brakes on your vehicle squeak the thing to a halt, you give yourself a minute to gather the energy to get to your house. You look across to your neighbour’s home; a two-story, cosy building that makes the outside of your one-floor seem squat and barren, “ _Just get it unpacked, it’ll be perfect_.” You sigh to yourself as you push the car door open with your foot and trudge into the house. Knowing you’re free for the next few days, you stand under your shower and just let the water hit you like a warm rainstorm. After what feels like hours, you slop back to your bedroom and rifle through the box marked ‘ _Slobs_ ’ pulling out an old pair of Colorado State University sweatpants, slouch socks and a cropped ‘Hooters Fort Collins’ t-shirt, before sliding to the kitchen. You stare aimlessly around the bomb-wreck and dejectedly lift the lid on a three-day-old pizza box, taking what was the last three slices – now congealed into one giant slice – placing it into the microwave for 10 seconds, rolling it into one chewy pizza burrito and saw your teeth through it while checking your email on your phone; re-reading the message from the bed company again, “ _Delivery will be this Friday between 4pm and 6pm_.” It’s now 6:30pm and you huff, “Another night on that god-awful thing I guess.” You go back to trying not to rip out your teeth on your meal as there’s a heavy knock on your door, “Oh! Thank Christ!” you call through the door, “I thought you weren’t gonna co-” You stop in your tracks as Arthur Morgan stands staring back at you with a smile, leaning against your door frame, an 8-pack of beer in one hand, his other resting a thumb through a belt loop; dressed in fitted dark navy jeans, cream and blue checked shirt, over a greying white t-shirt which seems to be straining a little as it stretches over his chest.  
“Howdy…! Err… Ha-have I come at a bad time…?” his face drops to concern as he sees your own shocked expression.  
You manage to pull yourself around, “… No…! No, I-I just thought you were gonna be my bed…” you realise how that sounds as he gives you a confused look, “ _I mean_ , they were supposed to deliver my bed today… I thought you were them…”  
“Oh,” he runs his free hand through his soft, dark-blonde hair awkwardly, “no, I’m just here to give you a proper Jackson Welcome, as your neighbour.” He stands up straight, “I was gonna make you somethin’ to eat, like bringin’ a chilli over or somethin’, but then I realised I dunno what you eat, so I brought you and your fella some beers…” he raised them with a furrowed brow, “… but then I guess I dunno if you drink neither…” he spies the cone of food in your hand and smirks, “but seein’ as you seem to enjoy what looks like _really old pizza_ , I’m glad I didn’t go to too much effort!”  
You laugh at him and take the pack of bottles, “Beer is more than perfect right about now. And I’m sure if I had _anyone_ , they’d thank you.”  
“Huh. I’m, err, I’m sorry for assumin’… there ain’t many folks around here on their own.” He looks a little embarrassed as he scratches at the scruff on his jawline.  
“It’s fine,” you chuckle, “you’re welcome to come in… Though this place isn’t exactly ‘ _homey’_ at the moment.”  
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he chuckles, following you inside and closing the door, “it’ll be interestin’ to see what you’re gonna do to Al’s place now it’s yours.” He looks around warily, almost tripping over boxes in the hall as he passes the doorway to the living room and sees more boxes labelled ‘ _Living Room Shit_ ’, and smiles to himself.  
“Yeah, sorry!” you call from the Kitchen, “I haven’t really had time to unpack yet, be careful as you step through the place.” You turn and smile apologetically at him as he steps through the doorway of the Kitchen towards you, taking the bottle you offer him, your outfit being the only thing that distracts him from the state of your home. He nods in thanks and twists the cap off, desperately keeping his eyes on your face as he sees your damp hair drip onto your white t-shirt, making it cling to your collarbone.  
“Erm…” he clears his throat and points to your chest, “Is-err, is that where you worked?”  
You look down and remember you’re in the Hooters t-shirt, “Oh god!” you laugh, “No. Nooo, we went there for our Finals afterparty.”  
“ _Hooters?!_ ” he scoffs  
“There were a lotta fellas on my Veterinarian course, Mister Morgan… Plus their wings are good.”  
“…I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been…” he flicks his eyebrows as he smirks into his beer.  
“ _Sure_.” You grin; he makes you feel extremely relaxed, and his playful manner was incredibly alluring.  
“Is that what you do for work then? Fixin’ up animals?”  
“Yeah. I work around the Ranches and at the Elk Refuge. I specialise in big game and equine anatomy.”  
“That’s amazin’, workin’ with animals, really amazin’.” he gazes at you for a little too long, “So!” he leans against a blank wall, forcing himself to have a conversation to keep his mind away from other thoughts, “you decided what you’re gonna do with this place, once you’re in?”  
“Nothing, really,” you smile and look around, “the place is beautiful; the wood floors, the wood burner in the living room, I love the study, and this beautiful route into the yard.” You walk over to the panoramic French doors that slide wide open, and sigh as you look out across the view of the forest and green plains.  
“Well, thank you!” Arthur chuckles as he joins you.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I did a lot of the work on this place,” he took a swig of beer and smiles a little proudly as he looks at you, “Me and Albert, the fella who lived here before you, worked it all out… Well… I worked it all out for him… and did most of the work.” He laughs “Albert ain’t much of the _‘labourin’ type’_.”  
“So is that what you do? As a living I mean?”  
“Yeah, I work in Construction. This was a favour though. Albert got me through some stuff a couple years back…” Arthur looked out sadly towards the sunset before clearing his throat, “Well anyway I wanted to thank him, and I knew he always complained about how this place weren’t set up to his likin’. So, I set it up for him.” He shrugged as you smile at him.  
“He sounds like a good friend of yours.”  
“Yeah he is, I’ll miss him. Strange little fella,” he chuckles into his beer, “he’s off around the world for his new book. He’s a wildlife photographer, it’s why the study and this room have big old windows out onto the plains. I still get updates from him now and again, still almost killin’ himself gettin’ too close to animals.”  
“He left me a print of his work as a housewarming gift,” you beam, “it’s beautiful, I need to put it up somewhere… When my house doesn’t look so much like a squat.”  
Arthur looks down at you, still holding the pizza, “You ain’t really gonna eat that are ya?” he pulls a slight grimace.  
“It’s been a _very long week_ , Mister Morgan, and I have no energy to search for anything else, let alone cook it.”  
He rolls his eyes and sighs mockingly, removing the item from your hands gingerly as he marches to the trash and drops it in, “You got bread?”  
“Yes.”  
He goes over to your refrigerator, laughing at its meagre offerings, and pulls out butter, cheese, eggs and bacon, “I’ll make you a deal; you move some of these boxes around to where they should be,” raising his eyebrows judgementally towards the one marked ‘ _Bathroom_ ’, “and I’ll cook you a Morgan special.”  
“ _A what?!_ ” you laugh.  
“It’s usually reserved for hangovers,” he shrugs, “but, seein’ as it’s all you got in, I’ll let you off. Part of the Jackson Welcome Wagon!” you laugh as he gives you a wink.  
“Okaaay,” you agree suspiciously as you hand him the loaf of bread and your one clean frying pan.  
“Go on!” he shoos you away, “I won’t go riflin’ I promise.”  
“Well now that just sounds like you’re gonna.” You joke as you pick up the box and take it to the bathroom.  
You work through the worst of the mess as you hear him humming in the kitchen, the smells of bacon and grilled cheese gliding through the house make your stomach growl. You fix up the living room to some sort of organised chaos and join him back in the kitchen to hunt out two plates. The best you can offer is a saucepan lid and the ripped lid off the pizza box.  
“Woah.” Arthur laughs as he serves up the two grilled cheeses, “You really need to unpack.”  
“Seeing as we’ve only really just met, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” You tease as you head to the living room, “I got the TV working at least!”  
“Ah! The important things!” Arthur jokes as he follows you, balancing his sandwich on the upturned saucepan lid in one hand while carrying the last four bottles of beer in the other, slumping down heavily beside you he hands you your second beer, “you maaay need to catch up.” He says as you clink bottles together, “well, here’s to your new home!” he eyes the TV on the floor, leaning against the wall, shakes his head and tucks into his sandwich with a smirk.

***

You lie on your back in bed, enjoying the moment of silence and pretending you didn’t have a world of work to do around the house. You think back to the previous evening spent with your new neighbour; he had said he would come back today and help out, having laughed at your ‘ _working TV_ ’ dumped on the floor. You hide your face in your hands thinking about how ridiculous you must have seemed every moment he was in your presence, flopping your arms to your sides you decide that won’t be the same today; you force yourself out of the squeaky, lumpy travel bed; shower and take a moment to actually consider an outfit that isn’t ultimately humiliating. You drag on an old pair of faded jeans covered in paint splatters and a baggy t-shirt, and head to the kitchen to set up a large pot of coffee as a familiar rough knock on the door echoes through the hallway. You open it to Arthur greeting you with a broad smile stretched across his bristled jawline. He's got a huge heavy-looking toolbox beside his foot, and enough donuts to feed an army in one hand, and he’s dressed in an old and t-shirt and jeans with the odd rip, “Someone order a handyman?”  
“I don’t remember ordering a bucket of fried dough, Mister Mor-” you get silenced by an impatient hand being raised.  
“You won’t get any if you keep callin’ me that.” He laughs, picking up the toolbox lightly as you let him in; a warm waft of aftershave follows him as he passes you and for a moment you’re lost in a world of sandalwood, sea salt, and spices, “C’mon, we’re neighbours, _it’s Arthur_.”  
“Fine,” you chuckle as he stands in your hallway, “you want a coffee, Arthur? Just made a fresh pot.”  
“Sounds perfect.” His voice rumbles softly as he follows you into the kitchen to put the food down, “Where do you want me first?”  
You freeze as he looks at you expectantly, pushing the ends of his dark blonde hair back from his eyes, awaiting instruction on his first task of the day; he has a placid and relaxed expression; far removed from any connotations you are thinking of, “uhm.. well,” you sigh, re-setting your mind as you hand him his coffee, his fingertips briefly brushing your knuckles as he takes the cup from you, “I guess, seeing as you have been so _vocal_ about my choice of placement for the TV, you can put that on the wall for me. The bracket is in one of the boxes in there.”  
Arthur’s face peels into a mischievous grin as he turns to look back to the hallway, “is it in the box marked ‘ _Livin’ Room shit_ ’?” he teases into his drink.  
“Quite possibly. But I’m not going to help you now.”  
The two of you work for a couple of hours as he sets your TV, helps shift furniture and eats the share of donuts he brought. You discuss your job; him asking you every possible detail about what you do; did you always want to help animals? Did you grow up on a farm? Do you have really nasty job days? And so on, and so on, “You sound like you went into the wrong work, Arthur,” you chuckle as you stack your monumental movie collection on shelves.  
“Aaaah I ain’t smart enough to do things like you do,” he muttered, lying on his back as he held a pencil in his teeth, while tightening the screws on the legs of a coffee table, “but I always been interested in animals and such. It’s why me and Albert got on so well, I guess… He was good at talkin’ about that stuff, coulda been me in another life I s’pose. I used to ride horses, back when I was a kid.”  
“Really?” you call as you leave with an arm full of now empty boxes.  
“Yeah, I-” he’s distracted as he watches your body from his spot on the floor while you move out to discard the boxes, the ring of the doorbell snapping him back; making him hit his forehead on the edge of the coffee table. He waits, listening out for your footsteps. Another ring of the doorbell followed by a thump on the door calls him to action; he shuffles out from his spot and heaves himself up with a groan as he goes and opens the door.  
“Excuse me sir, is, your wife home? We need her to sign for this.” The delivery man double checks his clipboard as Arthur scowls in confusion, looking beyond the driveway to a large truck and another man taking multiple pieces of wood and cardboard boxes out the back of it.  
“uuhm…”  
“Who is it?” you see Arthur whip around in a slight panic as the man at the door smiles in greeting, “Oh! You must be the bed guys!”  
“Hi, ma’am, yes. If you could just sign here, we’ll bring it in and be on our way.” Arthur slinks to hide in the front yard; smoking a cigarette as the men take the flat-pack and mattress into the bedroom. As they leave, he joins you in the doorway of your room as you look a exasperatedly at the pile of cardboard and package wrap.  
“Looks comfy.”  
“Shut up,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead, “they didn’t say _anything_ about it being build-it-yourself.” You slump against the doorframe as Arthur pats your shoulder with a chuckle and goes out the room. You stare listlessly at the mountain of clothes and boxes that has infiltrated what should be a sanctuary and sit in the centre of it all; your head defeatedly in your hands.  
You hear a sigh of age, and the smell of caffeine and tobacco mingled with Arthur’s cologne drifts to you through your hands as he chuckles, squatting down next to you, “Looks like I got my next job to attend to.” He nudges your shoulder with his and you look through your fingers to see him smiling softly with a cup of coffee for you, “C’mon, I ain’t lettin’ you sleep on _that_ _thing_ tonight,” he gestures to the prison-like single camp bed, “I’ll get this done in no time.” You take the coffee and he slaps your back as he stands up, and heads back towards the living room to collect his tools, “Try and clear some space in here so I can put it where you want, then go eat somethin’, or somethin’. You ain’t stopped today.”  
“You haven’t either,” you mumble as you go and pull the bedding to the side and fold the temporary bed frame; rolling it out into the hallway, and taking it to your jeep to give back to its owner on Monday.  
As you step back over the threshold, you stop to take a moment to see that the hallway is clear; the boxes are gone, leaving the wooden floor – though dusty in places –gleaming in the sunlight that pours through the front door. Turning to look at your living room, you realise that the two of you worked all morning in there; the room is finished (other than some final personal touches); the TV sits in an alcove beside the chimney, the coffee table is fixed up in the centre of the room, on top of a thick, teal blue rug, and your couch is backed up against the wall opposite the TV and wood burner. The only box left is still sealed and marked “ _Photographs_ ”, your tiredness mixed with hunger and gratitude threaten to overwhelm you as you blink back the emotion and go to the kitchen which isn’t quite as perfect. You grab a couple of Deli menus and go towards the bedroom.  
Arthur is stood in the centre of a square of space, bordered by cardboard boxes hand-labelled 1-10; he is scowling at fairly thick pack of instructions, a pencil tucked behind his ear and one hand resting on a tool belt that hugs at his hips; lost in thought; leaning back on one leg, chewing on his lower lip as he reads through everything.  
“You have a preference of establishment?” you ask lightly, waving both menus in front of your face, making him chuckle and walk towards you.  
He stands over 6 feet tall, almost towering above you as he lightly lifts the pamphlets from your hands and peruses both. You feel a little warm from his incredibly close proximity as you hear his incidental hums and grumbles from his throat as he thinks.  
His green eyes peel up from the menu and look warmly at you, “Anythin’ on this one’ll do,” his gravelled voice rumbles as he passes the choices back to you with a small crooked smile and goes back to his work; straddling over the first numbered box, bending down to rip the cardboard open and begin building.  
You turn out of the room, aware you may be a little flushed, and order lunch. You proceed to clear the Kitchen and make it habitable again. It’s an hour or so before the delivery appears and by this time the sun is beating down on the house and you’re yet to figure out the air conditioning meaning every room with a window has now had them opened. You grab two newly discovered and washed glasses, stock them with ice, and fill with the soda that you ordered with lunch, taking Arthur’s into the bedroom. The room is stifling; and you’re almost knocked backward from the heady mix of heat, cologne and effort. As you step through, you see Arthur works quickly as he has already got the basic base of your bed constructed, he is now fighting to fix the huge sleigh bed’s headboard in place, and seems a little battle worn; his hair is damp, as is his t-shirt; now a shade darker as it clings to his back, and as he stands, you see quite the breadth of the man as the front of the shirt looks more like its painted on, “Thanks,” he says a little breathlessly as he takes the drink and chugs half of it in one go, “is your A/C broken? The place is a furnace!”  
“I have no idea,” you say into your drink, gabbing an ice cube in your teeth and crunching it, “I haven’t worked out the controls!” you go over to the window and push it open as far as you can and you turn to see Arthur with his hands on his hips, his head thrown back laughing exasperatedly.  
“You need me to show y-”  
“I can manage, Arthur, I just haven’t had time or need to work it out yet. Just be grateful I know how to order food and put ice in a glass.”  
“Well that is true I guess.” He chuckles as he digs into his sandwich with a surprised and impressed look on his face, “You pretty much got it just right too,” he mumbles through his chews.  
“Well you seem like a pretty easily pleased guy!” you tease as you go to the kitchen for your own meal, “now. I’m not paying you in sandwiches to _not_ build that thing!” you call.  
“It’s a goddamn monster!” he calls back with a laugh, “But I’d sure appreciate you workin’ out that A/C sooner than later!”  
You pick through the drawer of instructions that Mr Mason kept, and start working out how to set the thermostat in the hallway, from your position you can see the reflection of Arthur from a full-length free-standing mirror as he takes the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands and drags it to his face to wipe the sweat from his brow. You almost choke as you see the clench of his stomach as he sighs; seeing another glimpse of the torso that greeted you on your first encounter with him, almost convinces you to keep the A/C off a little longer, though the cool breeze as it kicks in tells you to be a grown up.  
You set about unpacking your books and medical journals in the study; possibly your favourite room in the house; one wall is made up of reclaimed timber railroad sleepers halved lengthways and braced against sprawling decorative branches from cottonwood trees. Its big fully-glass doors look out on the back yard and across to the meadows and woodland. The room is shaded and cool, and the white stucco walls against the natural woods of the flooring and shelving add a peacefulness to it, even when you hear the occasional drill, hammer or frustrated grunt from Arthur across the hall. Once everything is unpacked you take the large bubble-wrapped frame from the corner and open it carefully with a smile; Albert Mason’s gift to you was beautiful; a bull elk and its mate standing amongst the bronzed leaves of Fall, surrounded by woodland. Arthur calls to you, and you go investigate the summons.  
He’s standing at the foot of your bed, a broad, proud and relieved smile smashed across his face, “Your ridiculously enormous bed, m’lady!” The bed took up a lot of the room’s space; its ornate head and footboards curl like mahogany-stained scrolls, it was very ostentatious for you, but you didn’t care; it was all yours.  
“You wanna give it a test run?” Your startled expression must’ve been obvious, “… I mean… well… errr.”  
You laugh awkwardly with a nod and flop your back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh and closed eyes; it’s perfect, “Thank you, Arthur.”  
“I’ve added some extra brackets at the base behind the headboard in case of… well… In case it moves on this floor.”  
You open your eyes to see him smiling and standing over you, his hands resting on the buckle of his tool belt, “you’ve been a miracle worker,” you say softly as you force yourself to stand up again.  
“Aaah, I don’t know about that,” he huffs modestly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m just doin’ what I can do. You’re my neighbour, I ain’t about to just leave you hangin’!” he stares his green eyes through you as he smiles at your gratitude and you both stand a little too close, for a little too long.  
“Anyway!” he announces loudly in your face, “how have you been gettin’ on? Seein’ as I’ve been imprisoned in this sauna all afternoon, for all I know you coulda been sat on your ass watchin’ TV.”  
You escort him to the Study and feel a wave of satisfaction as you hear him whistle; impressed at your work, “I found the gift Mister Mason left me,” He takes the framed print from you, and scans it affectionately.  
“ _Beautiful_.” He mutters, “Though I imagine that Elk chased him quite far after that shot!” Arthur turned it over and read the note from Albert which you had attached to the back,  
 _“Dear Ms Y/L/N,  
I hope you don’t mind my note to welcome you to your new home. I have to say, when the realtor informed me of your career, I was truly elated to know my home was being handed to someone who has a deal of love for creatures which is most similar to mine.  
My apologies for not having been available at any point to meet you, but duty calls (or, in this case, Borneo). Please accept this rather audacious gift, it was taken less than a mile from the back yard. Perhaps upon my return, while visiting dear friends, we could meet and talk about our mutual admiration for the natural world?_

 _Kindest Regards,  
A. Mason_”  
“I was going to put it above the wood burner in the living room.”  
“You want me to do it?”  
“I’m not completely incapable, Arthur, despite my current lifestyle,” you chuckle, “I’ll get it done. You’ve done plenty, thank you so much.”  
“I told you, it was nothin’.” Arthur smiled as he went back to the bedroom to collect his things, “You sure you don’t want me to put that up? Last chance!”  
“No, I’m fine. You deserve a break and some form of weekend.”  
“Okay, well if you manage to put a hole through your wall, I ain’t around to help tomorrow, I got some meetins in town.”  
You walk together to the front door, “I’m sure I’ll manage to keep the framework of my home intact at least.”  
“Well, you’re doin’ a better job now than you were this mornin’,” he teases as he stands on the front step of your home, “keep up the good work, _neighbour_.” He winks before turning and going back home, “I’ll catch ya later”.

***

It was a good few weeks before you saw Arthur again, though some days you heard his pickup truck roll away in early morning hours and return quite late. Your workload was beginning to ramp up as the foaling and calving season was still in full swing; your hours went from a steady 10 hours a day, to more days at a good 12-14 hours depending on emergency calls.  
The team you work with across Jackson and the wider Wyoming area had organised a big party; one big blow out to help push through the real work.  
You pull out your best fancy outfit; a very fitted cobalt blue strappy short summer dress, matching high heels, dressing it down with your cropped tan leather jacket and matching clutch bag. You totter to the couch, impatiently clunking your keys against your chunky tortoiseshell bangle as you wait for your cab to arrive, desperately wondering how you’re going to survive the night in your ridiculous shoes.  
You hear a car pull up outside and scurry out the front door to prevent them from starting the meter too soon. It’s not until you’ve locked up the house that you realise the cab is dropping people off, not picking you up. Two men thank the cab as it turns around and leaves; they’re laughing and carrying bags clinking with what you assume is beer and snacks. You try to avoid detection outside your own home while you wait; staring intently at your phone to try and seem less awkward and embarrassed.  
“Hi there!” You look up and one of the men is leaning on the wall at the edge of your driveway, while the other shuffles around embarrassedly towards Arthur’s, “You live here, or are you waiting on the person who does?”  
“No, I live here… Just waiting for my cab.”  
“Hot date, huh?” he says, nodding towards your outfit.  
“Just meeting some work friends,” you flick a slightly irritated smile towards the man as he grins at you.  
“I’m Javier, that’s John,” John raises his hand and nods apologetically as he goes to knock Arthur’s front door, “We’re keeping the old man company tonight,” Javier jokes as he raises his over-filled shop bag, “so apologies in advance if we’re rowdy later and keep you up.”  
“I’m sure I’ll be fine; either still out or pass-out drunk, but thank you for your concern…”  
“ _Javier_ ”  
“Javier.” You sigh with relief as you see a cab pull up.  
“And that’s John.” Javier repeats as he makes his way over towards the front door as it opens.  
“Okay, well you have a nice night then!” You wave as you see Arthur standing at the doorway of his home with a strange look on his face that you can’t quite make out.  
“You too, Miss- err… I didn’t get your na-”  
“Bye then!” you shut the cab door and go off to your evening.

Arthur is completely perplexed by you as you wave to him and slink towards the cab, he barely notices as John slaps his shoulder and goes past him into his house.  
“That your new neighbour, Arthur?” Javier asks as he wriggles past his friend blocking the route  
“…Yeah…” he says, staring after the cab  
“She’s hot.”  
Arthur doesn’t move from his spot as he tries to remember every detail of the briefest moment before you left; your dress, your figure in it, your legs in those shoes; _Christ alive, your legs_ , he thought.  
“You playin’ cards, Morgan, or are you just gonna stand there all night lettin’ the heat in?” John teases from the Den  
“ _God bless the summer._ ” He mutters under his breath as he closes the front door and joins his friends around the poker table with John and Javier sniggering into their beers as they join Charles while he deals out the cards.  
“ _Whut?_ ” Arthur looks at his friends acting like they’re 15 years old, “be quiet.” He mumbles as he sits down.  
“So how long’s she been moved in for?” John asks.  
“A month… err _maybe…_ I dunno.” Arthur shrugs  
“ _Sure, Arthur_. She seems _nice_.”  
“Are you in, Javier, or are you just here to annoy me this evenin’?”  
“What does she do?” Charles asks as the table puts in their bets.  
“She works with animals.”  
“Oh then, she’s perfect for you!” John jeers, “Might be able to finally house train you!”  
“Look, just because you’re under Abigail’s thumb, Marston, don’t mean everyone has the same misfortune.”  
“What sort of work is it?” Charles continues, calmly ignoring the two antagonisers.  
“She works between the ranches and at the refuge, she’s a vet I guess, but for all the big animals.” He glances a warning stare at John before another dig can be voiced by him, then peels a wicked grin across his face as he definitively silences his friend with a Royal Flush.

The guys leave around 1am. As Arthur waves them into the cab he looks across to your house; the light at the front door is on, and he can’t tell if you’re home, his brow crumples a little with concern, “ _For god’s sake, Morgan, you ain’t got a reason to wonder where she is._ ” He sighs and decides to change before he tidies up the mess the night left behind; convincing himself that it has nothing to do with listening out for your safe return.  
At around 1:45 he hears a car, some clumsy noises and then silence. He decides to quietly investigate the situation; softly stepping around to the end of your driveway until something stops him; he places his hands on his hips and laughs at the vision ahead of him; you’re slumped in the corner on your front step, wedged between the door and the wall; one hand still stretched to your keys in the lock, the other hugging your shoes and your bag to your chest, your crossed legs stretched out towards him enticingly, “You alright?!” he calls to you, stirring you to open one eye and peer into the darkness.  
“HEEEYYYYY!” you call, “HOWDY NEIGHBOUR!”  
“ _Shhhh_!” he chuckles as he scurries towards you, “ _You wanna wake everybody in the area?_ ”  
He crouches down in front of you; the porch light wrapping him in a glow that gives his tanned features a warm radiance as the lines by his eyes crease with his soft smile.  
You gulp and look at him with wide, drunken eyes, “I can’t get in my house, and I can’t feel my arm,” you whisper huskily.  
He raises an eyebrow as he smirks, “You mean this arm?” you nod when he taps your elevated forearm still attached to your hand gripping your keys, “Well, you felt that,” he laughs, “and you’d probably find openin’ a door far easier if you stood up to turn the key.”  
“I know,” you huff petulantly, “It’s just too much effort.” You drop your hand from your keys and flounce in your seated position.  
He sits beside you, trying not to breathe the heady scent of your perfume too deeply, “Good night I take it?”  
You snort a short laugh and nod with a big smile, “It’ll be the last one for a while, back to the hard work now.”  
“Then you best get some rest!” Arthur slaps his thighs and you watch as he heaves himself back up to standing. He’s dressed in grey sweatpants and a very fitted white t-shirt.  
“You have a lot of those fitted tops,” you whisper out loud before you can stop yourself.  
“Hmm…? What this?” he looks down at himself, “yeeeaahh, I don’t buy things very often. This is probably the same age as me…” he pats his toned stomach, “really should lay off the beers until it fits again.” He opens the front door for you and passes you back the keys, “Now. You need a hand up?”  
“I can manage thank you, Mister Morgan,” you say in a vaguely inebriated and snooty way before rolling onto all fours and crawling through the doorway, then hauling yourself onto your feet most ungracefully; your skirt wrinkled up higher than it should be, “Tah-daaaahh!” you wobble on your feet slightly and beam at him from your hallway.  
“ _So ladylike_ ,” he chuckles as he folds his arms, “you good?”  
“I am _fantastic_ , Mister Morgan,” you sway with what could have been a wink, but as your other eyelid closed shortly after, it wasn’t easy to tell.  
“Aaaalright then,” he smirks, “sleep well.” He shakes his head as you wave and close the door with a flourish, followed by stumbling crash sounds in the dark. He runs a hand over his face as he tries to shake the image of you on all fours slowly dragging yourself into your home, “ _Pull it together, Morgan_ ,” he mutters on his way home, “ _it ain’t been so long that you’re enjoyin’ the view of drunk women_.”

***

With the work being unrelenting; the final babies being born for the season, and the checking of the foals and calves born earlier, readying them for the cooler months coming, you had managed to avoid Arthur after your embarrassing drunken escapade. He seemed to be working all hours too, though you had specifically been hesitating to leave your house if you saw him entering or leaving his own, and the hours he seemed to be keeping were almost as erratic. One evening you get home to find a folded piece of paper through your door.  
“ _Hey Y/N!  
I hope you’re ok. I came round a couple of times but you haven’t been in. It must be getting really busy at work. I guess we keep missing each other. Sorry for the note, seeing as we’re neighbours, I never thought to grab your number. Anyway, I’m having a get together next Saturday – it’s something I do every year for the neighbourhood and some of my friends – and you’re welcome to come if you’re around, but I know you’re working almost every hour in the day right now. It starts at Noon and is done when folks go home. No problem if you can’t make it, just let me know (if you have time to do that).  
Arthur._”  
You chew your lip and sigh; he’s not left his number on the note so you’ll have to go over to tell him. It’s been two weeks now and continuing to delay the inevitable jokes about your tipsy conduct will only make it worse. You shuffle around to his place with an air of humiliation and brace yourself as you quietly knock on the door.  
“There she is!” he greets you with crossed arms and a smug look on his face.  
“Hey Arthur,” you sigh  
“Feelin’ better now?”  
“Yep.”  
“No more adventures I take it?”  
“I’m sorry about tha-”  
He holds a hand up to halt your apology, “No need for that. I’m sure you’ll get your fair share of opportunity to see me in a far worse state.” He leans against his doorframe, hands in his jean pockets, “Anyway, is everythin’ alright?”  
“Yeah, sorry, I just got your note. Thank you for the invite.”  
“Buuut you’re workin’?” his face seemed to drop slightly, for just a flicker of a moment.  
“No… Well, I’m not _supposed_ to be, but who knows…? I was just coming to say I can’t really guarantee it until the day.”  
“That’s fine,” he shrugs lightly, “don’t worry yourself about it either way,” he smiles, “let’s put you down as a firm _maybe_.”  
“Yeah!” you chuckle, “Sounds about right. Do people bring stuff to it?”  
“Well, most folks bring food or drink or somethin’, but don’t worry. If you’re not sure you can make it, just bringin’ yourself is all that matters.”  
You feel your skin heat up as he smiles at you, “okay, well, I’ll see what I can do...” you realise you’re twisting your fingers awkwardly like you’re still a dorky teenager, “I best get back home and get some rest.”  
“Alright, maybe see you Saturday…?”  
“Maybe.” You return his smile, say farewell and almost skip back home knowing full well you have already decided to be unavailable for work that day.

Saturday arrives and you set about making something consumable to bring to the party, opting for a non-alcoholic summer punch as you only thought to pick up soda and fruit juice the night before. Once you’re done, you check the time and go to the front room to check if anyone is quite as punctual; your face drops as you see some people from the neighbourhood arrive on foot; the family of 4 are dressed impeccably; their little girl dressed in a cute little pink dress, their son in a checked shirt and khaki pants, the parents almost matching them. You scratch at your messy top knot as you look down at your jeans and vest top combo, deciding that maybe the gathering is a little smarter than you expected. You hurry back to your room and check your wardrobe for anything more appropriate, reluctantly grabbing a strappy white summer dress with sunflowers printed all over it that you once got told wasn’t smart enough for a wedding outfit. You change into it and grimace at your reflection in the mirror, pulling out the messy bun and fluffing your hair up at the roots, “Well… Now I just look like Alice Cooper with boobs,” you huff, slouching. You grab a brown leather belt and cinch the dress in at your waist to try and look more presentable, pulling on a light blue denim jacket and your Converse, “This will do I guess,” you twist a face at yourself and head to the front door with your party contribution.

Arthur finishes ushering some more guests in and marches back towards the door as you knock, “alright, alright I’m on my wa-”  
You beam up at him as he opens the door with a standard greeting smile switching to a look of elated surprise, “So I guess we can change that maybe to a definite? _And_ I brought punch!” you raise the bowl carefully.  
“You- you look- I mean you made it – looks like you’re here,” he stumbles over his sentence as he takes the punch bowl from you, “come in, come in.” he manages, trying desperately to keep his voice measured as he hurriedly takes the drink through towards the back yard. His house is a mirrored layout to yours, though the living room is knocked through to the kitchen. The place has a very fresh and modern feel to it, something you hadn’t pictured Arthur living in, and although there were small groups of people congregating throughout it, most of the place looks like it’s never used; the couches in the living room are a duck-egg blue colour which blended softly with the off-white walls and ornate cream coving, and the kitchen has gleaming white floor tiles, white units and wooden counter tops with a large breakfast island topped with white granite in the middle of it where three women are sat on bar stools; all of them are in jeans or linen pants and blouses or t-shirts. You suddenly feel ridiculously over dressed as Arthur comes back to you dressed in those very well fitted navy blue jeans you haven’t forgotten about, and a grey checked shirt; shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow and the collar unbuttoned.  
“I guess I should give you the grand tour!” he announces, “Ain’t much different to yours, ‘cept there’s a staircase where the study would be,” he rounds the corner and you see a beautifully sculpted handrail; its carvings are of leaves and vines and all manner of nature clambering up to the second floor, “There’s a small bathroom downstairs at the end, aaaand here is the Den,” his voice pulls your attention back to the room currently occupied by a couple of children playing snap at a card table. The room has a beautiful wood floor – darker stained than the ones in your home – and a beer fridge which sits under a wooden dresser filled with whiskeys, photographs and short drink glasses. There’s a TV on a stand in the corner which faces a couple of brown leather recliners. The walls are lined with pictures of friends and events, and you spy a couple of prints by Albert Mason. This room is almost more Arthur Morgan, than Arthur Morgan himself, and far away from the almost surgical cleanliness of the open-plan kitchen and lounge.  
“Did you make that staircase, Arthur?” you whisper, still in awe at its beauty.  
“Wellllll… Yes and no…” he squirms uncomfortably; he’s not one for selling himself, “I _built_ the steps, but I didn’t do all that carvin’, had someone make it from some drawins I did.”  
“You _designed it?!_ ” you look at him open-mouthed.  
“Yeah… I guess, kinda. I did a lotta sketches and such. Then passed it on to someone who could make it look nice.”  
“ _It’s beautiful_.” You mutter  
“Yeah I like it anyway, it was the only thing I really put my foot down over, ‘cept the Den, when we-” he stops, clears his throat and checks himself, “when I put the upstairs in.” he shuffles before shaking his distraction off with a clap of his hands, “You wanna see upstairs or you want a drink?”  
“Erm.. well, you better get back to hosting, so I’ll have a drink. _I can always snoop later_.” You wink with a laugh, and to your relief Arthur relaxes again.  
“Sure! I’m sure we can swing that!” he grins, and you follow him through to the back of the kitchen, out into the yard and stand by a long trestle table holding almost any beverage imaginable, “What can I give ya?” he asks over the music coming from a stereo by the house.  
You stifle your desire for innuendo and suggest perhaps just the punch you brought, “seeing it’s not alcoholic,” you laugh.  
“Aaah boooo,” he teases in a deep rumble as he hands you a paper Dixie cup, “shame on you playin’ it safe.” He turns as someone calls his name in the distance and he waves, “Listen, I gotta go run this thing. I’ll leave you to go snoop.” He nods a friendly ‘see ya’, and hurries off in the other direction, leaving you standing and gazing out at the vast array of people milling around his home.  
The back yard is another strange mix of Arthur and not; beyond the patio at the house there are beautiful delicate flowers edging the large blanket of lush grass. Towards the fence which borders the National Park land is a seating area lowered into the earth; dug out at an angle for reclining garden chairs fitted to look up and outwards, and in the centre of it is a large hand-built fire pit.

You spend the next few hours making acquaintance with your other neighbours; many of which know you as ‘ _Arthur’s Neighbour_ ’ already, being a seemingly closer-knit community than you’re really used to. From their chatter you learn that, to them, there is very little wrong that man can do; he has helped most of them with something in their home be it fixing a broken door to building a treehouse, and many of them kept mentioning that “he deserved better than he got”, without ever explaining what it was that he had got in the first place. You grow tired of the coded messages of ‘the inner circle’, and their inevitable white-collar gossip on others in the neighbourhood and go back for another drink. You decide one Rosewater Gin wouldn’t hurt, and you sip it while you look across to the host as he cooks on the huge BBQ grill and jokes with a lot of the male attendees; two you recognise from a few weeks ago.  
“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met.” A late middle-aged woman with a serious haircut and a fun floral blouse stands beside you with a broad, warm smile, “I’m Aubrey Meyers, I work with Arthur.”  
“Oh, hi! I’m Y/N.” you shake her hand, “You work at the construction company?”  
“Oh! Gosh, no, I work at the Jackson Housing Association, I run it.”  
“I’m sorry I thought you said you work with Arthur?”  
“Well I suppose he comes and works for us. He volunteers to help take on any work that the houses need doing before new tenants move in, it really is good of him; a lot of these places are old now; that’s all we can get for people on low wage. He helps fix up anything whenever he can.”  
“ _Wait…_ ” you look at her perplexed, “Arthur spends his free time fixing up places _for free?_ ”  
“Oh yes! He won’t take payment!” she chuckles, “he’s been doing it for years, says he wants the people living there to get a better chance at a fresh start. Whenever his regular work quietens down, we see him come into the office saying he has some free time. He’s been very busy these past few weeks. He usually checks on us in winter in case we need pipes lagging or boilers fixed.”  
You look back at him as he spins in a circle with one of the guest’s kids under his arm, before dizzily plonking him on the ground and going back to his beer.  
“And how do you know him, dear?”  
“I’m his neighbour,” you hear your voice say, “his vaguely confused-right-now neighbour.” You turn back to Aubrey and smile, “I work with the Ranches and the National Park, keeping the wildlife in top health.”  
“Oh my! Soon we’ll be overrun with do-gooders!” she chuckles, “it was very nice to meet you, Y/N. I must locate my husband before he tries to take over the music choices.”

Arthur keeps one eye on you for most of the day; laughing whenever he sees you grab nervously for the hem of your dress as the slightest breeze brushes by, _she really doesn’t wear that dress easily_ , he thinks to himself. Every time he has a free moment to go back and talk to you, you’re in a discussion with someone else, and as happy as it makes him to see you being welcomed into the community, it is somewhat frustrating; he really isn’t interested in disturbing someone else’s chat and becoming the focus of gossip for it.  
“You know, Arthur, she seems like a good person.”  
“…She is, Charles, what’s your point…?”  
“ _You’re not that stupid_.” Charles goads into his drink, “And you could do with learning how to skulk less obviously.”  
“I ain’t skulkin’, this is my house! I’m doin’ what I always do at these things.”  
“ _Alright, friend_ ,” he pats Arthurs shoulder and joins Javier by the fire pit as he starts tuning his guitar for the sake of some guests, which makes Arthur’s eyes roll.  
It’s not until dusk begins to fall around 8pm, with people now beginning to peel off back home, that it’s getting quiet enough to potentially snatch a conversation with you. He watches as you laugh along in conversation with Charles and Javier.  
“We’re gonna head off soon, Morgan,” John slaps Arthur’s shoulder snapping him back from you, “Jack’s gettin’ tired.”  
“Alright,” he smiles at him, “thanks for comin’ ‘round.” He gives Jack and Abigail a tight bear hug goodbye and they head into the house.  
“Abigail says she’s nice.” John nods towards you  
“ _Christ not you as well,_ ” Arthur groans, “she’s my neighbour, she’s only been here for six weeks and she works all the hours of the day. The last thing she needs is the guy next door creepin’ on her.”  
“Well, you’ve been doin’ a pretty good job of that all day.”  
“Shouldn’t you be off gettin’ nagged by Abigail?”  
“And she seems pretty much perfect for you. I mean your creepin’ ain’t scared her off.”  
“I thought you were leavin’.”  
“ _Look_ ,” John wheezes, “We’re just worryin’ about you. Worried somethin’ is gonna drop off without use.”  
“ _Hey!_ ” Arthur snaps, “Just because me and Mary ended two years ago don’t mean I ain’t been… _active…_ ” he trails off, slightly embarrassed.  
“ _What…?_ Have you been datin’?”  
“… _no_ …” Arthur clears his throat and mumbles into his beer, “… maybe a couple of regrettable nights here and there…”  
John roars with laughter, “ ** _Regrettable nights?!_** Jesus, Arthur, you gotta be the only single fella I know who refers to one night stands as ‘ _regrettable nights_ ’!”  
“Yeah, well...” he sniffs, “I ain’t a kid no more.” He looks back at you as you move away from your companions, and head towards the fire pit.  
“She don’t look like someone into regrettable nights neither.”  
Arthur stretches his neck out with an irritated head roll and glares at his friend, “You done?”  
“I’m just sayin’, you ain’t gettin’ any younger! By the time you make a move, Jack’ll be old enough to babysit your kids!”  
“Go on! Get outta here!” he shoves a laughing John Marston, “Goddamn pain in my ass!”  
“I’ll see you Monday, old man!”  
“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles

You slide back into a recliner and look up towards the clear darkening sky, stretching your legs towards the embers of the dying firepit to try and warm yourself up, “ _I should have just gone back and got changed_.” There had been a lot of information to take in about your neighbour, and the level of admiration he gleaned from everyone he knew was a little intimidating, and Arthur seemed completely oblivious to it all. You felt like all the things you’d learned wouldn’t even have been things he would tell you and in a way you still didn’t really know him; whenever you had been in his company he had asked all about _you_ ; every pause in conversation would prompt him to raise another question before you had a chance to ask him anything.  
“Mind if I join you?”  
You turn to the owner of that gravelled voice, “Not at all,” you smile, “it’s your house, Arthur.”  
He lowers himself into the other recliner with a tired groan, “You never realise you’ve been on your feet all day until it comes to sittin’ down!” he chuckles, “How’s your day been?”  
“ _Overwhelming_ is probably the best way to describe it.” You nod thoughtfully as you look back up to the sky, “you have a lot of good friends.”  
“Yeah…” he muses as he lies back with a sigh, “I probably shoulda warned you folks around here can be a little… _over friendly_.”  
“They think a great deal of you.”  
“Because they ain’t that bright.” he mocks  
“I dunno,” you goad, “I think a lot of the women in the area are pretty smart about suggesting you fix up their family homes, seeing as their husbands can’t.” You turn to him with a knowing smirk as his confused expression slowly morphs into coyness.  
“Very funny.” He looks at you as you laugh up at the sunset; the beer encouraging him to take some time over his view as the pink and orange glow strokes over your body, and he notices the skin on your legs puckering in the chill as the breeze whips and plays with the light fabric of your dress, mocking him almost as much as his friends had, “ _Here_ ,” he says a little forcefully as he turns to a wooden crate beside him, and pulls out a plaid blanket, “this’ll keep the chill off.” He quickly dumps it on your legs and takes a large swig of his drink.  
“Thanks!” you open it out and snuggle down into it, “I really should have just turned up in my jeans.”  
“I was gonna say, you really went all out today, huh? I mean, if there’d been a prize for most overdressed you probably would’ve won hands down.” Arthur laughs while he tries to stop the thoughts he has had all day whenever he saw you.  
“Well, at least I’d have won! It’s not entirely my fault,” you turn to him with a fake scowl, “you didn’t put a dress code on the invite.”  
“You coulda asked!”  
“ _well…_ I forgot.” You mumble, “besides, I was about to come around when I saw some people _really_ dressed up, and I panicked.”  
Arthur’s brow furrows slightly, “ _Who?_ ”  
“I dunno. Some family of four… Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them all day…” you twist to look back towards the dwindling numbers back near the house.  
“Ohhh! I know who you mean! Yeah, they came by to say hello before goin’ to a weddin’.” Arthur laughed loudly, as he sees you bury your face in your hand, “Man, I worry about the animals you look after sometimes, if you’re like this with yourself.”  
You pull the blankets further up and raise a middle finger to him, which prompts another raucous wheeze from his throat.  
“So… You manage to snoop everywhere?”  
“ _No_ ,” you playfully snap, “I’ve not been given a minute to myself to do so.”  
“Ah well, another time maybe.” Arthur smirks into his beer.  
“You know…” you push, “I realised today that you never finished telling me about yourself.”  
“When?”  
“When you helped me out.”  
Arthur laughed, “My God! That were weeks ago!”  
“Well then,” you twist in your seat to face him, and pull the blanket up to your shoulders, “we have some catching up to do.” You smile warmly at him, “You were telling me about how you rode horses as a kid.”  
He hitches himself into more of a slouch and he laughs from his throat as he reminisces, “Yeah, my Momma had a horse, and seein’ as it were just us she made me go ridin’ with her. The stables let me take a smaller one out with her once I were big enough, then gave me a job there for free ridin’ days,” his face fell, “all stopped when she got too sick of course… And I lost interest after she passed…” He pulls his battered wallet from his pocket and unfolds the picture holder from it, “That’s her, wouldn’t take shit from anyone.” He chuckles.  
You lean across to look at the picture; its faded image is of a woman standing tall with her arms wrapped across a young boy’s shoulders. They are both stood in front of a majestic looking black horse; the boy has a shock of bright blonde hair and a huge, cheeky grin as he clasps his mother’s hands at his chest, they have similar features, “Is that you?” you beam.  
“Haha yeah, I’m about six in that, she’s probably tryin’ to stop me runnin’ off and causin’ trouble. That’s her horse, Maya, in the background.”  
“Who’s that?” you point down at another picture of that same cheeky boy sitting on the knee of a similar looking woman beside a man with greying hair.  
“Ah that’s my Aunt Bess and Hosea!” he looks happily at it, “Bess were my Momma’s sister. They took me in after… Well. Hosea got me workin’ at VDL from around fourteen. Took me outta school, convinced his buddy to take me on as an intern. Weren’t like I were ever in school anyway. They’re off tourin’ every single state in an RV. The amount of postcards I’ve got from them so far could clad this entire house.” He laughs.  
There are two more pictures; one of a group of his friends drunk in a bar, and one of Arthur, John and Abigail with Arthur holding John’s son high on one shoulder; they’re both laughing. Arthur runs his thumb over the empty pocket, “ _I really need to move these around_.” He mumbles sadly.  
“So you do this every year?” you change the subject quickly, waving a vague arm over your head back towards the gathering.  
“Yeah… Well, I got the space.” He shrugs as he puts his wallet away, “Started a few years back; me and the boys at work always get some time off in the summer in between jobs, so we have a get together. It kinda turned into a bit of a street party, I guess. It gives me a chance to catch up with everyone and the families appreciate it too. Then I do the same at Halloween if I ain’t workin’.” He flicks a modest smile at you, “And then there’s Thanksgivin’ and Christmas. Some of the fellas come around then too.”  
“Everyone goes to Arthur’s, huh?”  
“Seems that way.”  
“I guess it saves you rattling around in that big beautiful house on your own.” You realise what you said a little too late.  
“Aaaah, I ain’t in much anyhow...” he mumbles sadly, “Always out workin’.” He leans forward as you nod uncomfortably, “Weren’t always such a big house… Weren’t always just me.”  
“I-I’m sorry, Arthur I didn’t mean to-”  
“Aaah, it’s fine,” he waves your apology away, “Mary and me got together kinda young, and I think some of the reason we stayed together was ‘cause it pissed her Father off.” He huffed a short, sad smirk, “I think the novelty finally wore off when she realised I weren’t gonna change what I did or move from Wyomin’. She gave it a go, ‘specially as I did all this,” he looks back to the house, “but, this town ain’t really her thing. I don’t blame anyone really; it was all done out of the courts except signin’ some papers. She don’t need anythin’ from me, we’re both happier now, and she told me to keep the house seein’ as I did all the work on it.”  
“Oh, how _gracious of her_.” You roll your eyes, not able to imagine living somewhere you’d built with someone after they’d left you.  
“I know I should probably sell the place,” he chuckles at you, “but the only reason I wanted it was for that view.” He turns to you as you stare out into the woodlands, “And I think it gets better every day.” He clears his throat and throws a log on the fire, sending orange embers up to dance in the air.

***

You slump onto the steering wheel of your Jeep; your head feels like it’s in a sack, and you have to alternate between breathing through your mouth and covering it to cough. Despite your arguments, work sent you home sick, and told you not to return for at least five days. You knew it was on the horizon; the hours you had been working and the shift in weather since now it’s the end of September, was the perfect cocktail for what you could only describe as a slow and mucus-filled death.  
You pull yourself out of the car and stare dejectedly at the pile of logs in the back seat which you got from work for free. You make a strange whine and rest your head on the window.  
“Look at you home in the middle of the day!” Arthur calls from his front step as he locks up the house, “this is a surpri-… woah.” he stops in his tracks; his lit cigarette dangling off his bottom lip as you look up at him with a big unsexy sniff, your face pale and watery-eyed, “ _Okay_ … Now I see why.” He stubs out his smoke and comes over to you as you yank the back door of your jeep open and weakly begin pulling the bags of logs down onto the driveway, “What’re you doin’?!”  
“I’m getting my stuff.” You sniffle, “I need to put these… _somewhere_ ,” you sigh, “WOODSTORE!” you blurt out as your mind kicks in. You close the car door and take a moment.  
“You ain’t takin’ them anywhere,” Arthur commands, “you’re gettin’ in that house and goin’ to bed.” He takes your keys and locks the car, places his hands on your shoulders and steers you to your front door.  
“But the log-”  
“They’ll be fine, ain’t no one interested in stealin’ half a goddamn tree.” He steadies you before opening the door and turns back to you, dipping to match your eyeline; his face is serious and his vibrant, green eyes scan you carefully making you laugh, “ _Whut?_ ” he asks a little hurt.  
“Looking at me like you’re a doctor,” you splutter between laughs and coughs, “I have a cold, Arthur, nothing I haven’t had before.” You shuffle past him and go inside as he returns to pick up the three heavy bags of wood.  
“What are these for anyhow?” he puts them down in the hallway and follows you into the Living Room as you point at the wood burner, “Well they ain’t gonna fit in there as they are,” he chuckles, “you got an axe to chop ‘em up?”  
“That was to be my next errand,” you croak as you go to crawl onto the couch.  
“Nooo, oh no you don’t!” Arthur swoops down, hooking a thick arm under you, stopping you from reaching the couch, “Go to bed, Y/N.” he tightens his arm at your midriff and lifts you upright again, “Don’t make me regret buildin’ it in the first place.” A crooked smile sneaks playfully at the corner of his mouth as he holds you steady in a band of warmth.  
“Alright,” you sigh, pushing him away distractedly as you slump off to your room with Arthur following.  
“You need anythin’?”  
“Nope.” You sigh  
“You sure?”  
“Yep.” You kick off your shoes  
“… you’re not listenin’ are you?”  
“Yep.” You fall onto your bed  
“Okay,” he chuckles, lifting your legs gently onto the mattress and pulling the spare side of duvet over you, “I’m gonna put those bags in the Livin’ Room before I head to work, I‘ll fix ‘em for you this week alright?”  
“Uh-huh” you mumble, your eyes already closed.  
“I’ll come back and check on you when I’m done today, if I see any lights on.”  
You feel a soft, short weight press down on your arm, accompanied by the lightest squeeze before the door closes.

You wake up in a dark room, still wrapped up in the duvet; disorientated and confused as to quite how you got home. You cough your way to the bathroom to try and steam shower yourself back into some form of human.  
After 30 minutes of being pelted with lava-hot water, and a briefly attempted battle with a hairdryer, you are now back standing in your Bedroom summoning up the energy to put on clothes, and as always you dig out the one thing that makes you feel better; a long-sleeved short-cropped deep red onesie and a pair of oversized ski socks. You pull a chunky woollen blanket out from the trunk at the foot of your bed, sling it around you like a sympathetic cape, and proceed to the kitchen to dissolve some horrific-tasting cold and flu powder to drink.  
You look at the clock and groan; it’s 7am; you’ve slept what must have been 18 hours, and though you no longer feel like your head is in a bag, you know you’ve worked yourself into the ground. You flop onto the couch, snuggle a little into your blanket and force yourself to chug the gross mixture steaming away in your cup. It takes a minute for you to notice the logs piled up in the narrow woodstore beside the burner as you place the empty mug on the coffee table, and you begin to remember your befuddled conversation and Arthur’s assistance when you arrived home from work.  
“ _Oh godddddd!_ ” you whine, “ _every time_.” You fling your hands over your face in frustration; that man had a real knack of catching you at your most disorganised, it was unfair how he always seemed so put together.  
As if the fates were waiting for it, there is a knock at your door and you instantly know who it is (in part because for some reason he refuses to use the doorbell). You hesitate for a second; genuinely considering hiding from yet another humiliating encounter with your incredibly desirable neighbour, but you really should thank him for his help (yet again), and at least he’s polite enough to not openly grimace at your seemingly chaotic life. You pull the tissue from your nose, haul yourself from the couch, quickly try to fix your hair into something less mad-looking, and answer the door.  
“Mornin’!” Arthur is beaming at you as the sunlight glistens through his hair, “You seem a little better today?”  
“ _Yeah_ ,” you attempt; your voice is there but thanks to your current health it has taken on a soft, husky tone, “ _Thank you for helping me out yesterday… again_.”  
“It ain’t nothin’,” he shrugged modestly, “you were stumblin’ around like the undead, I’m surprised they let you drive home. Glad I weren’t on the roads then!” His small laugh trails off as he catches himself gawping at your outfit while trying desperately to remember the actual excuse he had for coming to see you, “Errr Oh! I got you this,” he thrusts a large paper pharmacy bag towards you, “I was gonna bring around last night but looked like you were out for the count.”  
“ _Yeah_ ,” you wheeze, “ _I must’ve slept nearly a full day_.”  
“Well it’s workin’ for you… Uhm, I better get to work.” He rushes quickly, “Look after yourself!” he backs away and waves a short salute before lightly jogging to his pickup.  
You go back to the living room and open the parcel; it’s a care package of medicine, tissues, snacks and fruit. The man is just too much.

Two days of rest from working, and you’re almost back to full health. The temperature outside is beginning to drop further as October is less than a week away, and you take the opportunity of sick leave to catch up on work messages, get to a hardware store to pick up a good axe, and getting the logs chopped before the rain sets in.  
You grab a large flat piece of tarpaulin, dump as many logs as you can onto it, and drag it to the back yard before making a huge cup of coffee to keep you going for the day.  
It’s two hours after you start that Arthur arrives home from work, showers, changes and steps out onto his bedroom balcony for a smoke. He looks over to his right and sees you playing Lumberjack in the back yard; you’re dressed in what looks like thick fitted yoga pants, work boots, a warm plaid shirt and workman’s gloves, your back to him, swinging an axe with relative confidence. He leans casually onto the railing and takes some time finishing his cigarette as he watches you work through the vast stock of tree you need to cut to size, before finally deciding to see if you need a hand.  
“I told you I’d do this,” you turn to see Arthur leaning on the fence that separates your yards.  
“I never agreed to that.” You tease, “it’s not like I can’t do it myself.” You wipe the perspiration off your brow as you gather up the cut wood and start to take it back into the house. You return in time to see Arthur leaning on his right hand as he clumsily launches himself over the fence feet-first and lands solidly in a flowerbed of now crushed plants, “Erm… sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck.  
“It’s fine, saves me from having to look after them over the winter.” You bend down again and begin gathering more wood for the house, “Thank you for the care package by the way, it’s worked wonders.”  
“So it would seem.”  
“What can I do for you, Arthur?” you look up, log-tarp in hand.  
“Thought you might like a break from this; I can take over if you need?”  
You laugh and shake your head, “You just don’t quit being Mister Helpful do you?”  
“I guess it’s nice to be nice, used to have to do this for Albert…” he trails off into a mumble as he watches you walk away with your collection of firewood, “But if you want to keep throwin’ yourself into it, I’m more than happy to sit back…” In an effort to focus his energy into something productive, he picks up the axe and sets to work.  
Before you even finish emptying the tarp, you know he’s ignored you and taken up chopping the rest of the logs, and you roll your eyes as you hear the distant sounds confirming it.  
You go to the refrigerator and pull out two beers, nearly breaking them in your tightening grip as you see the sight before you; Arthur swings and cleaves the logs in one swift, smooth motion; as if they’re nothing. You take a moment to watch the curve of his torso as he brings the axe around his body and up above his head; his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt as he stretches to his full height; his arms flex and constrict before he brings the blade back down with a grunt. Eventually you gather yourself enough to go back out with the beers.  
“Ah! Looks like you’ve discovered the only reason I come by and help out!” he grins as he twists the bottle cap off and nods to you with thanks.  
“Well then,” you smile, “if it’s for free beer, now I know how to keep you away too.” There’s an excruciatingly awkward silence as your joke dies as much as you do when you see Arthur’s face drop a little, “Sorry, I was just jo-”  
“I know, I know.” Arthur huffs a short laugh into his beer, “Listen. I don’t think you’re gonna fit anymore firewood in your house. You got anywhere to store this?”  
You look down at the last half a bag of logs yet to be cut, “You have it.”  
“What?”  
“You have a firepit and that ridiculous grill, I’m sure you’ll use it, and it’ll save you having to get anything.” You pick up the bag and drop it over the fence, “I’ve already delivered it for you.”  
Arthur laughs and gathers up the rest of the firewood in the tarpaulin with a shake of his head, “So instead of givin’ me anythin’ pre-cut, I’m gonna have to go through all this again myself?”  
“I’m sure you can handle it,” you tease as you escort him to the Living Room where he stops and stares at the mess of logs strewn across it. He turns slowly to you with a mockingly unimpressed expression.  
“ _What?_ ” you smirk, “I thought they made an excellent room feature like this!”  
“Okay,” he sighs as he steps into the centre of the mess, and crouches down, “let’s get stackin’.”  
You both work in quick synchronicity to stack the firewood, and before long the woodstore is full, leaving some stay wood and a lot of splinters on your floor.  
“Looks like you’re gonna have to stack these in the burner.” Arthur mutters.  
“Well I got it all cleaned two weeks ago, and the weather is pretty crappy, I could probably light it.”  
“Then why are we standin’ around bein’ cold?” he chuckles, “get to it, woman!”  
You grab some matches, firelighters and a broom from the Kitchen and shove the broom in Arthur’s hands upon your return, “C’mon! Get to it, Mister! I got a fire to build!”  
“Well, you’re certainly a lot better!” Arthur teases as he goes about sweeping up the sawdust.  
“Yeah, I pretty much took everything in that care package in 24 hours… Probably not so wise.” You light the fire and throw Arthur’s collection of wood scraps on it before shutting the burner door, “But it worked! I think I just haven’t been smart with my workload, and it finally caught up with me.”  
“Ohhhh! _Ya think?!_ ” Arthur watches you pull yourself up before you turn to him and pull a face, “Your place looks great now by the way, I guess you ain’t such a mess all the time.”  
“It helps when you’re not home a lot.” You stand and dust off your hands.  
“I hear you… you were right to put that print there,” he nods to Albert’s housewarming gift, “it’s perfect.”  
“Well it deserved to be appreciated by anyone who comes by… which, so far… _has been just you_ …” you trail off suddenly realising that you’ve been so busy, not even work colleagues have come around yet, “ _oh god!_ ”  
“What?”  
“I need more friends!”  
“Well, thanks for that!” Arthur chuckles  
“You know what I mean!” you punch his arm, almost bruising your knuckles on his firm tricep.  
“Well, about that… I know we’re about two months out, but I wanted to say that you’re welcome to join the calamity that is Thanksgivin’ at mine…” he rubs the back of his neck, “I mean, if you’re not off somewhere to go visit your folks… You’re always welcome whenever.”  
You’re not sure if it’s the warmth from the fire or something else but you can feel your skin begin to tingle, “Well I think I’m having to host my parents this year. They want to see my home, so… That won’t be stressful _whatsoever_.”  
Arthur laughs, “Well, if it gets too much and you’re gonna wish you were the turkey, all of you are welcome around mine! I always have too much food for everyone, and I’m sure you can bring some spare chairs.”  
“Thank you,” you chuckle.  
A warm, soft smile spreads across his face and another long silence descends across you both, though there is nothing uncomfortable about it beyond the ache that courses through you.  
A loud _POP_ of the fire jolts you both back, “SO!” Arthur sighs loudly, “you back at work tomorrow?”  
“ _Technically_ they won’t let me back until next week.” You grimace, “but I can just do paperwork for two days; catch up on emails and so on. Next week is gonna be tough so I guess I should take the rest while I can.”  
“Why tough?”  
“Oh well,” you sigh as you take his empty beer bottle and head towards the kitchen, Arthur in tow, “One of the Ranches is in a bind; they found one of the small barns for the young horses is letting in the weather and so we’re all having to chip in and fix it, and I have that to do on top of the other things I do ther-”  
“They got the materials to fix it?”  
“Yes. A few locals donated that, bu-”  
“Then I’ll do it.” He shrugs, arms folded as he leans against the counter beside you.  
“That’s kind of you, Arthur, but they can’t afford-”  
“When are you next there? I’ll drive you up and talk to them.”  
“Arthur, they-”  
“Monday?”  
You look at him with utter exasperation  
“ _I’ll just talk to them_ ,” he chuckles, “give them some advice, that’s all.”  
“ _Fine_.” You sigh, “I’ll tell Hank you’ll be there on Monday.”  
“Good.” He turns and heads back towards the back yard, “What time we need to set off?”  
“Well, it’s a little out of the way, so probably 7am.”  
“ _To leave??_ ”  
“Yes!” you laugh, “You don’t _have_ to come at all!”  
“Just provide the coffee. I’ll be waitin’.”  
“And some donuts I don’t doubt?” You tease  
“We can get them on the way.” He winks as he stands back on the previously trampled weeds, “See you Monday if not before.” He hauls himself back over the fence and disappears with a grunt as he almost twists his ankles on the logs you threw over, “If I ain’t in A&E!” he laughs sheepishly as he reappears.  
“G’night, Arthur.”  
“Until Monday then!”

***

7am, Monday, October 5th arrives, and you make your way outside in the dark laden with your regular med kit, bag of paperwork, and two large travel cups of coffee. You look across to see Arthur leaning against his pickup truck; the light from his driveway pools over him as he waits for you; arms folded. He’s dressed in an old, dark red, tight long-sleeved t-shirt which hugs his waist; its colour blends with the Autumn leaves. His legs are kicked out slightly in front of him as he waves a silent salute towards you, “ _Mornin’_ ,” he whispers; his voice more a deep vocal rumble than anything, “ _This is early._ ” he states gruffly as he opens the passenger door, takes a coffee and one of your bags from you to hitch yourself up into the seat.  
“You can always go back to bed, Arthur,” you tease, “I have my own vehicle you know.”  
“Well you made me this now,” he raises the coffee as he sits in beside you and slams his door, “I’d only be lyin’ in bed, wide awake with no way to tire out…” you both unexpectedly exchange a look as you smirk into your coffee. He clears his throat and starts the engine while turning down the radio, “… Where we goin’ then?”  
“Gimme your phone, I’ll put in the address.”  
“I don’t think that’ll help,” he mumbles as he pulls a grey Motorola flip phone from his back pocket and sheepishly throws it into your lap.  
“ _What the hell is this?!_ ” you laugh loudly.  
“I told you it wouldn’t help!” he chuckles, “Works fine for calls and such. It has a camera on it.” He shrugs.  
“ _Jesus_.” You snort, “Okay, I’ll just direct you.”

You arrive the at the Ranch; coffee gone as quickly as the time had from you and Arthur making some small talk in between donut stops and directions. You introduce him to Hank Allen, Ranch owner, and say your goodbyes as you march off to your usual morning tasks.  
“Y/N tells me you’re here to give us your expertise on how to fix this damn thing?”  
“That’s what I told her, Mister Allen,” Arthur says as he reaches into the bed of his pickup and lifts down his largest work toolbox, “but you just point me in the direction of the problem, and I’ll see if we can’t just get this done.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry, son, but we simply can’t afford for you to do the work…”  
“Let’s not worry about that right now.” Arthur dismisses Mr Allen’s concerns and gestures his hand forward kindly, “After you, Mister Allen.”  
The pair make their way over to a small shelter-barn not far from where you are standing talking with one of the staff; Arthur is careful to walk on Mr Allen’s far side and shift his work tools to his furthest hand in case you spy them.  
“The rains this month must’ve finally worn out that part of the roof,” Hank sighs as he looks up, “really shoulda worked on fixin’ it in the summer, but time just disappears, know what I mean?”  
“Yup.” Arthur scratches at the hair on his jawline, “But this seems an easy fix. You got stuff to fix it with, Mister Allen?”  
“Please, call me Hank. Yeah, it’s all stacked in there, keepin’ dry under some tarp.”  
“Well then, Hank, you and me can probably get this done before the day is out.”

It’s late morning by the time you have finished your regular rounds and check ups at the Ranch, and as you take a coffee break and stretch your back, you look up to see Arthur sat through the hole in the shelter; his leg propped up on the top of the roof, a cigarette in his teeth as he works hammering the final wood struts into place. You roll your eyes as he looks down and waves to you with a happy smile, the Fall breeze playing through his dark blonde hair, and the sun glistening lightly off the fuzz on his face.  
“How do you know that fella again? Boyfriend or somethin’?”  
“He’s my neighbour, Hank, I was telling him about your situation, and he offered to come and give you some advice.”  
“Well I like the way he gives advice!” Hank chuckles  
“Look, don’t worry about the bill, I’ll cover it,” you huff, “I told him you couldn’t afford it bu-”  
“You needn’t worry, Y/N, he’s doin’ it for free.” Hank smirks as you look back up towards the broad silhouette as it stretches in the sun, “You sure he is _just your neighbour_? Not many fellas I know would do somethin’ like this for free for a stranger on their day off.”  
“He does things like this all the time.” You reply, gaze locked firmly on the roof.  
“Anyway,” Hank slaps your back to bring you back to earth, “kids are here. Let’s get this show on the road!”

From his location, Arthur has a view of the whole Ranch and the lands beyond; he sits for a moment taking in the peace of it all, allowing the breeze to cool him from his exertions.  
The peace is broken by a school bus pulling in, and the bark of commanding teachers herding rowdy kids off it. He sees you and a couple of staff greet them and split small groups off to different areas.  
He clambers down and heads his way towards his truck, pulls a sad looking sandwich out of a pack, and saunters, undetected, towards a small stable where you are teaching a group of kids about looking after animals, and what to check for. He leans in the doorway at the very edge of the stable and watches you in your absolute element; holding court, engaging the kids, not taking any shit, and working with the gentlest care with the foal you’re beside.  
“Excuse me… Mister Morgan?” He turns to see a middle-aged woman behind him, “I’m Hank’s wife, Sally. I just wanted to thank you for you volunteerin’ your time today.”  
“Ahh, it’s fine, happy to help! It’s good to get out here once in a while, too.”  
“Well, thank you.” She looks down at Arthur’s sandwich as it begins to curl at the corners, “Look. We got some food goin’ up at the house; we put on an old-fashioned cook out for the kids, you’re welcome to come eat somethin’ more appetisin’ than _that_ ,” she grimaces as she nods towards his hand, “especially before the kids get to it.”  
Arthur looks down at the sandwich in his grubby hand, a little shamefaced, “Well that would be most good of you, Sally, thank you.”  
“It’s the least we can do, Mister Morgan,” she peers over his shoulder into the stable, “and it’ll keep you out of the way of some of our instructors,” she smirks. With one glance back to you over his shoulder, Arthur sets off to the homestead.  
“So you do these kinda things a lot? With the kids and such?”  
“Oh yes, we work with troubled kids specifically. Y/N has been a godsend with it; really knows how to get them interested in the more technical sides. Hank teaches them basic ropin’ and Ranch life, but since Y/N started volunteerin’ they’ve come on; they seem to remember how to care for somethin’.”

It’s 4:30pm by the time you both are done for the day, and the deep orange of the sunset is almost fading on the horizon. You make your farewells to the Allens and get yourselves back into Arthur’s pickup truck. Once all the waves and smiles have happened, and Arthur pulls the truck out of view, you turn to him, arms folded, and a disapproving eyebrow raised at him.  
“ _Whut?_ ” he smirks  
“That seemed to be a lot of advice you had to give Hank. Took you all day.”  
A huge, wide grin creases his face as he keeps his eyes on the road, “Just seemed easier to do than explain.” He glanced at you and wheezed a little laugh at your expression, “Besides, you were there all day and I was your ride. I didn’t fancy gettin’ lost twice without your directions if I left and came back.”  
“You could’ve gone to town and got a phone with a map on it.” You tease as you both head into the darkness of the unlit road back to town, the radio halfway through playing ‘ _Chasin’ Wild Horses_ ’ by Bruce Springsteen.  
“You got any more big work coming up, Arthur?”  
“What? Outta town you mean? A little comin’ up end of the month. The big work dies down a little when the snow comes in. I got some work up at the Ski place beginnin’ of November before their season really hits off; gotta make sure all their accommodation is fit for rich idiots lookin’ for somewhere to rest their broken bones on an evenin’.”  
“I take it you’re not a skier then?”  
The belly laugh that comes from him fills the truck, “You really see me doin’ that??!”  
“No!” you confirm with the same level of hilarity.  
He catches you staring wistfully up at the night sky as he drives along, “You know, this is why I love this place,” he points his hand out in front of him, “this is still one of the few places left with this kind of peace and quiet close to home.”  
“Same.” You agree absent-mindedly, “it’s why I work late at the refuge; the views at night make you forget what year it is.  
“You know…” Arthur suggests hesitantly, “… This is probably one of the last good nights we’ll have before it gets to hypothermia levels…” he pulls the truck off the road at a parking spot, “C’mon!” he looks at your confusion with excitement and jumps down from the driver’s seat, grabbing something from behind it.  
“What’re we doing?” you ask as he slams his door and goes to the back of his pickup.  
You sigh and jump down to follow him, now standing in the bed of his pickup, “Need a hand up?”  
You take his warm, rough hand in yours, and allow him to effortlessly pull you up to him, steadying you at your hip as you bump into his chest.  
“ _Look_!” he says as he points out towards the view; the sky is filled with clusters of stars, hues of indigo and pink, and in the far distance the last light of day is fighting to stay above the horizon, leaving a black shadow of pine trees against the backdrop, “this is the reason I ain’t never home either.” He walks to the back of the truck’s cab and sits on the roof, looking out at you as the stars halo your figure through the darkness, “it’s beautiful.”  
You join him on the top of the cab, shivering a little, “we’re very lucky.” You nod.  
“Here, I knew you’d be shiverin’.” He laughs and throws his thick winter coat across your shoulders, “I barely use this these days, but I keep it in the truck in case somethin’ goes wrong and I’m stranded.”  
The blue coat is fleece-lined with a fur-trim collar (which you hope is fake); it’s heavy and padded, and engrained with the smell of sandalwood, spice, tobacco and coffee; everything that encompasses Arthur whenever you’re near him, “Thanks,” you pull the coat tightly around you, “aren’t you cold?”  
“Nah. It’s only the beginnin’ of October, this is nothin’.” He smiles down at you, “I forget you ain’t been here that long. Feels like you’ve always been here.” He pulls himself back to the view, “You’re a dark horse, Y/N.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“They told me up at the Ranch that you work with them kids for nothin’.”  
“Not _nothing_ , Arthur. I do it so they get another chance. No one is born an asshole. And these kids are needing someone to remind them of that. The Ranch is perfect; so many people who stay around here could end up making a living somewhere like that if only they’re reached in time. And there is no easier way to get through to someone than showing them something that will love and appreciate them if they give it back the same.”  
Arthur gazes at you as you talk, knowing all too well his own fate had he not had Hosea and Bessie at his lowest point, “you’re not wrong,” he whispers.  
“What about you? You’re always doing stuff like that. _All the time._ ” You knock your shoulder with his.  
“I’m just usin’ my skills for those that don’t have ‘em… which… Yeah, I guess is kinda similar… But you’re makin’ a difference to those kids.”  
“And fixing up houses for free isn’t?” you laugh as he looks at his hands, “I met Aubrey at your party. You’re a ridiculous human, Arthur Morgan; stretching yourself thinner than humanly possible to help people, and half of them don’t realise how much you do for all the others.”  
“Because they don’t need to know,” he mumbles with a shrug, the stars reflecting in his eyes, “because I’m just workin’.”  
You place a hand on his without thinking, “And that’s what makes you probably the best person I know.”  
You tense up as he runs a thumb lightly across your hand and looks back at you; his face unreadable as his brow twitches and furrows, you hear his breath hitch slightly when his gaze lowers to your lips, and a tingle creeps through your skin bringing a heat and ache with it. You shuffle a little closer; your hand still on his, and lean forward, your eyes fluttering closed.  
“We should – errr- we should get goin’.” He says loudly in your face, “… it’s gettin’ cold.”  
“Right!” you sit back and drop his hand immediately, “Sure! You’re right! It is.” You stand up quickly letting his coat slump off your shoulders, and you march purposefully to the dropped tailgate, the sheer humiliation burning through your skin with an unquenchable rage.  
“You need a hand back dow-”  
“I’m fine, I got it.” You snap with an unnatural high-pitched tone while trying to act casually as you storm back into the cab.  
Still sitting where you left him, Arthur runs his hands over his face, “ _Fffffffff! You fuckin’ **moron** , Morgan!_” he chastises with a strain through his hands. Grabbing his coat in his fist, he dejectedly shuffles back to the driver’s seat, sitting in a thick and suffocating atmosphere of his own making. He turns the ignition, and leaps to switch the radio off with a panicked swipe as the station is blaring out ‘ _Crazy_ ’ by Patsy Cline. He looks back to you apologetically, but you are extremely interested in the view from your window, and so begins the excruciating, silent drive home; punctuated only by brief directions barked out by you.  
Before he even finishes slowing into his driveway you’ve leapt out of his pickup; your medi-kit, paperwork bag and empty coffee cups all clutched tightly, “Thanks for your help today, Arthur.” You mutter very formally.  
“It was no prob-”  
 ** _SLAM_** goes the car door as you march stiff-backed towards your own home. He finishes pulling up, and watches as you almost shoulder barge your way through your front door. He squeezes the steering wheel as he rotates his hands around its grip, screwing his eyes tight shut and slams his palm hard against it before flinging his head back, “ _Can’t even close on a woman that wants ya_!”. He forces himself out of the truck, wrenches his kit out of the back, and stomps into the house.

You allow the anger at yourself to carry you through your usual routine; not even thinking about what happened, just letting blind embarrassment switch to auto-pilot. It’s not until you’re in the shower that you re-live the moment of utter rejection, “You shouldn’t have done that,” you tell yourself, “he was your _friend_ …” you find yourself laughing slightly, “Well, guess that’s that then.”  
You towel dry your hair as much as you can face, pull on shorts and vest top and go light the wood burner.

Arthur stands in the immaculate hallway of the home he barely pays attention to, and drops his stuff down at his feet before leaning against the wall by the front door, staring down at the floor; his mind both completely empty and somehow reeling from the images of his own cowardice as things friends had observed start to creep into his mind. Truth be told, he was terrified; his last two escapades had been alcohol-induced bad decisions, and before that he hadn’t been out of a relationship since he was in his late teens; he didn’t know what to do, how to be, what to say to get someone to like him like that. He sighed and picked up his gear, putting it under the stairwell. As he stood up, he had an uncharacteristically huge moment of clarity “ _She leaned in_ …” he realised, “ ** _She_** _did_.” He turns on his heel, scoops his keys from the floor in one stride, and leaves his home.

You hug the dregs of a large glass of red wine to your chest as you stare at the fire, a small smirk at yourself. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that a difficult apology will have to happen sooner rather than later and try to salvage whatever friendship is left; Arthur isn’t the breeziest fellow when he’s uncomfortable.  
You hear your doorbell ring and you go to the door without thinking, you check the peephole and collapse against it with dread when you see Arthur on the other side; pacing slightly, his hands fidgeting uncomfortably; swinging at his sides or running through his hair, “ _Okay, looks like we’re doing this now then_.” You whisper to yourself with a twist of awkwardness on your face as you pull the door open slowly, “Hey Arthur,” you sigh as he turns back around to face you; he’s not changed since returning home, he seems jittery and a little wild-eyed, “… Are you oka-”  
Without a word, he steps to you, gently takes your face in his hands and firmly pulls you onto his lips, parting yours with his tongue as he feels you respond to him; shifting his hands to your wet hair as you grip his upper arms to pull yourself onto your tiptoes to lock yourself against him as he steps through the doorway and kicks the front door closed, never leaving your mouth for a second until he finally comes up for air.  
“ _Hey_.” He whispers back breathlessly his green eyes piercing your very soul as his hands drop down to your shoulders.  
“You didn’t knock.” You manage  
“I weren’t sure you’d answer if I did.”  
You stifle a giggle as you point out the spy hole in the door, and he stretches his neck out with a small laugh as he looks from it back to you, “Well maybe I weren’t really thinkin’ too much about that side of things.”  
You pull him back to your mouth and you hear him inhale deeply as he grips you tightly against his body, pushing one long, gentle kiss through you, before stepping away from you slightly, “Are you around tomorrow?”  
“ _What?!_ ” you gasp, “What do you mean?”  
“Well… er”  
“I’m around now.”  
He chuckles, “I know. I am _very aware_ of that, Y/N,” he takes a moment to rake his eyes up and down your figure as he flexes his hands around your hips, “but-”  
“But what? You can’t come to my house, kiss me like that and then leave me hanging!”  
“Oh! I just – uhm – well, you know, I thought the done thing was gettin’ to know each other…”  
“Arthur, _we **already** know each other_, alright?” you step closer to him, running your soft hands up his forearms.  
“I hadn’t thought about it like that…” he grins, sliding his hands to your lower back.  
“You wanna go?”  
“Not even slightly,” he mumbles against your lips before he grabs your ass and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist as he presses you against the hallway wall. You can already feel the strain against his jeans as he pushes his whole body against you desperately to shift his soft, bee-stung lips to your neck; his left hand running over your thigh, tucking under the fabric of your shorts, and smoothing his palm over the curve of your ass, a loud, happy groan escapes from his throat when you run your hands through his soft hair at the back of his head; the faint smell of tobacco and sandalwood embedded in his warm skin swirls into your senses as you grip him tightly with your thighs, raking your fingernails across the top of his shirt in desperation, as the ache at your core begins to become unbearable. As he drops you back to your feet, you press yourself against the heat at his zipper and he presses his forehead against you, “I ain’t got any… _you know_ … Not with me.” he whispers. You just look at him with a wicked grin and pull him towards your bedroom by his waistband.  
You go to your bedside table and rectify his concerns as he stands against you; his hands finding your skin under your vest top as he runs his nose up behind your ear and he peppers kisses across you, the softness of his bristled jawline scratching your skin lightly as your hand reaches up to his face behind you and one of his hands moves cautiously towards the waistband of your shorts. He huffs out a hot breath of arousal as he hears you whine lightly at his movements and push yourself back hard against him; his fingers circling the soft skin at your pelvis as he grinds himself against your behind. You stretch your torso more as you reach your hand to the back of his head, silently encouraging his hand at your hip to go lower. With one swift movement he obeys; his other hand moving to caress your breasts as he lightly parts your soft folds with his middle finger, “ _like that_?” he whispers lightly and you nod as he begins to gently stroke you, finding the bundle of nerves with his thumb and holding you with his ring and forefinger as he works you, feeling the warm wetness for him. As he begins to kiss your collar bone, he feels you pulse against his hand, and tries a small scrape of teeth instead, sending your knees to buckle. He smiles against your skin and does it again, moving his hand from you and lifting you onto the bed. Without him even asking you to, you remove your top; immediately stopping him in his tracks. He stares at your body as you lean back, “You wanna give the bed a test run?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow, laughing at him a little as he almost falls over himself to get his boots off before he is above you again, kissing you deeply as he runs his hand down from your breasts, over your ribs and lands at your hip.  
He swiftly follows the same path with his lips prompting you to squirm and arch your back as his gentleness causes you to burn with need; you claw at his top as he lightly kisses and nuzzles your hips, “ _I’m guessin’ you want to even things out, huh_?” his voice rumbles as you paw at him  
“ _Uh-huh_ ” you strain and watch him sit back up from you, crossing his arms to lift his top off his body; his tight skin glowing softly in the warm light of your room causes you to sit up to him and press yourself against his naked torso as you lock your tongue with his; the brush of his chest hair stroking you as he runs his hands down your back and lowers you back to the bed, taking your thighs and hooking your legs over his hips, “ _Ain’t gonna be even for long_.” He teases as he pulls your shorts off in one swift movement and lunges forward hungrily with a growl to run his mouth over your breasts, dragging his lips back to where he last had you. He lifts his eyes up to look back at you and smiles as he sees your hands running over your face as you begin to writhe beneath him. He pulls your legs up, so your knees are bent, and he softly teases your entrance with one long, slow gentle stroke of his tongue; not entering you, not yet. He feels your legs try and collapse inwards as you shudder out a sigh as he repeats his delightful torture twice more before gripping your hips in his strong, rough hands and parting you. You feel his hands tighten as you loudly groan his name and go to grasp the back of his head; which only encourages him to lap at you deeper and stronger; his tongue exploring each spot which makes you yearn and pulse for him, but you need more; you manage to pull his head from you, and he kisses his way back up to you from your thighs to your mouth. He pulls you onto your side and lifts your leg onto him, putting his hand back between your legs; his eyes closed in delight as you wrap an arm around his neck and run your hand down the contours of his muscled abdomen, working the button and zipper of his jeans open before you feel two thick fingers inside you, beckoning you onwards, “ _That’s not fair!_ ” you whisper and he peels a filthy grin across his face as he continues.  
You slip your hand down under his jeans, dragging your fingernails at the base of his stomach, across the edge of the waistband of his boxer briefs making his breath stutter; almost putting him off his stroke. You take that as your cue to slide your hand down to his length and for a moment you’re stunned at what you find; his size is almost intimidating in your hand as he instinctively pushes himself forward through it with a groan. He feels hot, thick and silken against your palm, and even your lightest of touches sends him to forget everything else he’s doing; breathing heavily against your mouth, completely paralysed from desire as you begin to pump him. He huffs a breathy chuckle out as he tries to focus back on you, “ _Wish I’d taken these off now_.”  
“So take them off.”  
He swallows hard and shakes his head as he works you in time with your strokes,; both of you humming a sigh of satisfaction, “ _not yet_.”  
He starts to circle his thumb at your sweet spot as his fingers move inside you, making your back arch, and he runs his tongue up the strained muscle at the front of your neck. You can feel the wave of pleasure building inside you and you run your palm down the solid shaft of his length, “I want you, Arthur” you whisper against him.  
“You got me,” he whispers back  
You look into his eyes and push your tongue into his mouth, pulling him on top of you again, trying to pull his jeans down with your feet, and he laughs as he takes over undressing himself and reaching for the bedside table.  
“ _Wait_.” You grip his arm, “You’ve earned one push without.” He looks at you a little confused as you shuffle yourself underneath him, hook your legs over his hips and guide him into you with your thighs.  
Arthur is careful in part because of how close he already is to finishing, but also because he’s big; he’s been told so before. He doesn’t want to do anything to ruin this night. He enters you slowly; your slick nearly ends him before he begins, “ _this ain’t a good idea_ ,” he forces through gritted teeth as he continues to push into you, hearing you moan with pleasure as you feel him stretch you, filling you with every hot, strained inch of him, “ _Jesus Christ, woman_ ” he pants as he pulls out before you drag him back for a second push. He fights back before you can encourage a third thrust and reaches for the protection.  
He’s fast at getting back to you; he kisses you forcefully as he lines himself and plunges into you with a loud, throaty groan. You grip him tightly with your thighs, gripping his ass with your hands as he pushes into you over and over; harder and deeper with every slam of his hips into you. He feels you constrict even tighter over him and he buries his face into your neck; beads of sweat from his hair dripping onto the pillow. The very pinnacle of your orgasm hits you like a freight train, and you almost crush him as every muscle in your body locks tightly against him to the point where he is struggling to keep thrusting. You almost howl his name as you cum, and it sends him into overdrive; gripping the headboard of your bed and powering into you for his final thrusts.  
He opens his eyes and looks down at you, smoothing your hair off your face and smiling happily as he plants a light kiss on the tip of your nose before collapsing fully on top of you with a happy sigh of relief, “Well then…” he mumbles against your shoulder, “I think they would’ve heard that in Idaho!” he laughs, “Lucky your neighbour is out, huh?” he looks at you with a cheeky grin.  
“He’s an okay guy, bit grumpy, kinda dumb sometimes, but I think he’d be alright about it.”  
Arthur rolls off you with a chuckle and goes to your bathroom, “What time is it?” he calls.  
You check your phone, “8pm, why?”  
He comes back and leans against the doorframe, smiling like a kid at Christmas as he looks at you fully naked, “Just worked up an appetite for dinner,” he shrugged, “you got any three-day-old pizza left?” and he ducks as you launch a pillow at him.  
  



	2. Two Months In

It had been a strange two months since that first impassioned night with Arthur; both of you spending the evening in a bubble of joy; being warmed by the fire as you sat, wrapped in each other on your couch. You had talked about nothing of importance, and laughed at each other’s uselessness having not made a move sooner, though this had made for “The finest Monday in my whole life” as he had put it, rumbling that soft baritone voice over you as he pulled you back a little tighter to him and nuzzled his nose against the side of your head.  
The reality began to kick in for you both after he left that night, and it was suffice to say that neither of you were entirely sure what the next step should be, seeing as you were both unused to sex before dating.  
Your work lives also meant that time was snatched, though Arthur being Arthur, he made sure he saw you every day no matter of the time. However, with Arthur being Arthur, he had been far more restrained in his manner with you; pulling back the passion in an attempt to keep being the gentleman he felt you deserved to have beside you. Much to your frustration, which he seemed – very much – to be enjoying.  
You had agreed to keep your new relationship quiet for the most part; mainly because he couldn’t face the ‘I told you so’s from John and Charles, and because it was still fresh. He took you out for meals; your first date was out of both of your comfort zones with Arthur finding an extremely high-end restaurant that the ski tourists enjoyed during the season. It served steaks, which was a plus, as was its quietness until the tourist trade would pick up; but the prices, the French language menus, and the Maître D’s disapproval of his not-so-smart outfit upon arrival, left you both sniggering at its pomposity like teenagers, as you quaffed vast amounts of wine while trying to decipher what the food was. It was a fun night, but you agreed that maybe he needn’t try so hard next time, and you sealed that deal with a 2-hour impassioned drunken fumble on your couch, before he gathered his resilience and left for home to what you hoped was as sleepless a night as your own. You decided to fix his insistent manners yourself one night by literally leaping on him as you answered your front door, and taking him then and there in your hallway.  
When it was time for Halloween, the preparations for Arthur’s annual fancy dress party at ‘Casa Del Morgan’ began. You escorted him to the large supplies store for Haunted House decorations, “So what’s your costume gonna be, Arthur?”  
“Costume?”  
“Yeah!” you chuckled, “I mean, it is a fancy dress party, right?”  
“Yup.”  
“And the grown-ups dress up too, I’m guessing?”  
“You’d be guessin’ right.”  
“ _So_ … What are you gonna go as?”  
Arthur smirked a little as he pulled decorations from the shelf into the trolley, “Same thing as every year… A fella who throws a fancy dress party for everybody.”  
“ _Oh my god_ ,” you shook your head, “Make sure you don’t forget the old man cell phone, and the fake grumpy exterior!”  
“You’re not gonna let that happen are ya?” he smiled lightly.  
“ _Not a hope in Hell, Mister_.”  
“Jesus, I knew I shouldn’t have took a chance on you.” He laughed as you shoved him, setting off a tussle in the shop aisle as he tried to dump you face-first into the shopping cart.  
Halloween arrives, and after spending the morning decorating his place, you go home to get ready. You found an old Bride of Frankenstein outfit from your college days which still just about fit – though it had gotten somewhat snug around a couple of ample areas (which you were sure wouldn’t be a problem for Arthur), spend a good 2 hours painting your skin a pale green, and make your way back next door. You can’t help but snort-laugh as the door was opened by a disgruntled Arthur Morgan wearing a red flannel shirt, blue jeans and old work boots. He was fluffy-haired, with fake fuzzy sideburns stuck over his already unshaven face, “Why did I let you convince me to dress up like a goddamn werewolf?”  
“Because I let you do things to me.” You purr through the hysterics while you jokingly stroke his extra-hairy face as he lets you inside, “Anyway, we’re not finished yet, need to thicken those eyebrows up!” you grab him by the wrist and drag him to the kitchen, “Sit here.” You push him onto a stool by the breakfast island and pull out a dark eyebrow pencil, standing closely in front of him as he looks up at you like a hurt child, “Don’t give me that look, Mister,” you chuckle, “this is barely anything compared to what you could have been put in if I hadn’t compromised!”  
“I can see that!” he peels a naughty grin across his face as he takes advantage of your concentration on his brows, and runs his thick hands across your tightly-clothed ass.  
“… _What’re you doing back there, hmmm?_ ”  
“Wonderin’ how much of that green I can get all over my face.” He growls back lightly with a firm squeeze as he stares at your cleavage, “I’m startin’ to regret makin’ this a family night.”  
You step back and admire your handiwork, “I can’t think of a more appropriate thing for you to be than a wild beast right now,” you chuckle as you lean down to plant a small kiss on his lips as the first knock at the door echoes out.  
Arthur sighs, and slaps your ass as he stands up, “I guess that’s all I’m gettin’ until everyone’s gone. Remember to keep your hands offa me, Y/N,” he winks with a chuckle, “I know how difficult you’ll find it while I’m lookin’ like this.” For as much as he was joking, he wasn’t wrong; it wasn’t easy controlling yourselves around each other at the best of times, and ever since you had been so very blatant with him, the sexual charge from Arthur had been electrifying, and knowing you both had to keep it civil and platonic in front of the guests only caused the ache to intensify.  
As the volume of families increased, so did the comments about Arthur joining in for once, which you found most entertaining, especially when he gave you a withering look as he catches you sniggering. Throughout the night you manage to find ways to avoid him by mingling with other guests. Arthur was in charge of the front door and keeping the food and drink flowing, Charles (dressed as a mummy) and Javier (a pirate) ran the kids’ games, and the rest just enjoyed some corny Halloween music while laughing at all the costumes.  
You take over beverage duties; refilling snack bowls in the kitchen as you feel two thick arms wrap around your waist from behind, “This isn’t behaving yourself like we agreed,” you giggle softly.  
“I seem to recall you ain’t such a fan of me behavin’.” Arthur mumbles hungrily as he kisses your shoulder before spinning you around to face him, pushing you against the counter, “Besides, it ain’t like anyone is in here right now.” He runs his hands up your back as he pushes his nose against yours; a deep playful smile stretching across his lips. Another knock at the door causes him to groan and rest his forehead against yours, “ _Goddamnit_!” he chuckles.  
“The price of being everyone’s favourite,” you say softly to him before pulling him in for one powerful kiss and sending him on his way to the door, beer in hand.  
“Happy Hallowe-!” John, Abigail and Jack start laughing mid greeting as they see Arthur at the door.  
“What’re you meant to be?!” John exclaims with an amused wheeze.  
“A werewolf,” Arthur sighs, “it’s a long story.”  
“You look weird, Uncle Arthur.”  
“Oh! That’s _kind_ of you, Jack! I guess I’m still new to this dress up stuff, not like you three.” Jack was dressed as a knight, Abigail was a witch, and John was a scarecrow, “Least your father finally dresses to match his IQ, huh?”  
“Jack, honey, why don’t you go play out back?” Abigail lovingly sends him off and watches him run past you into the garden, “You might wanna check your face before you go back out, Arthur,” she replies smugly as she makes her way into the kitchen.  
“Ahhh, I see.” John chuckles as he slaps Arthur’s arm, “The new neighbour finally settled in then huh?”  
“ _What?!_ ” Arthur’s face falls to a sheepish expression as John rubs his thumb over the man’s nose and shows him the evidence of green face paint, “ _…Oh… Well._ ” He flicks up an eyebrow as his face breaks into a boyish, proud grin into his beer, “She seems happy enough, yeah.”  
“Go wash your face, Lover Boy,” John teases, “and then you can sit and listen to us tell you we knew she was perfect for you.”  
The night was a success, and the revelries died down by 10pm. You manage to hang back under the guise of clearing up; carrying a rubbish sack around the garden to clear away discarded plates and dixie cups as the others left.  
“That seems to have been a success.” Arthur states proudly as he joins you inside.  
“I’m sure they always are.” You turn to him and carefully peel his excess sideburns from his face as he puts his hands on your waist and stares longingly at your lips.  
“The guys know by the way.”  
“Guys? What guys?” you grin distractedly as you lick some tissue and run it across his eyebrows, “know what?”  
“Know about us. Just the guys from work.” He shrugs as you give him a faux-stern stare, “I can’t help it if you dress in somethin’ so tight I can’t keep my hands off your green skin!” he chuckles as he pulls you tighter to his body as he brushes his lips against yours, “Now. Why don’t we see if we can get that paint off with a bit of friction…” he lifts you by your ass and drops you on top of the counter top, his tongue locked with yours as he pushes you backwards.

***

Although the façade was quickly discovered, John promised Arthur he wouldn’t tell anyone beyond Charles and Javier (because Abigail had already informed them), and they didn’t pry or push anything beyond the occasional enquiry as to your wellbeing. Your relationship continued well, with regular dates now consisting of nights at bars, more relaxed restaurants, or sitting in his pickup looking out at the stars, when you weren’t making out like kids in it.  
You still hadn’t told your parents about him; knowing they would ask 1000 questions, demand they met him at the first opportunity, and more than likely ask incredibly embarrassing questions about his intentions, which meant that Thanksgiving was going to be a little rough.  
“So, how long are they stayin’ for?” Arthur asked a little huffily.  
“They’re flying back two days after Thanksgiving,” you say while you play with the soft down on his chest as you lie in your bed.  
“Hmmm… And when do they arrive?”  
“Arthur!” you sigh with an exasperated laugh, “They arrive the morning before Thanksgiving.”  
“Sooo… We’re not gonna see each other for a week?”  
“ _Four days_ , Arthur, four days. Besides, you’re going to be busy with your own stuff over that time anyway.”  
“You know the offer still stands that you can come over. All of you.”  
“ _Arthur_ ,” you sit up, “They don’t know about us, I’m not about to throw them in to a Thanksgiving dinner with you and every other person you’re dealing with that day.”  
“I know,” he pulls you back to his chest with a throaty chuckle, “… though four days is a long time to go it alone when there’s a perfectly good Bank Holiday to spend in bed… I dunno how we’ll last.”  
“Well then…” you slide your hand down past his tight abdomen, “you’re just going to have to wear us both out now aren’tcha?” His eyes flutter closed as you toy with him; slowly dragging your nails in small circles around his pelvis.  
“ _Uh-huh_.” He manages before his arm tightens around you and his mouth begins to hang open as you lean across him to kiss his collar bone, running your bottom lip over his throat, and you reach your hand to his already solid length. With his eyes still shut he turns his head towards you and searches for your mouth with his own as you begin to slowly work him. He runs his free hand into your hair and pulls you to his mouth, humming a long deep sigh of satisfaction across your lips as he pushes himself into your palm. He takes his time sliding his hand from your hair, down your neck, and allowing his fingers to run delicately down every wave, dip and curve of your body; always reacting to your skin as if it was the first time he’d experienced it; pushing longer and harder into your hand as he explores you, before stroking at your core, and slipping inside you, matching the rhythm you started as he rests his forehead against yours, and you feel his hot breath against your face. You feel his muscles tighten as he tries to keep himself in check, “ _Darlin’ I-_ ” he stops as he inhales deeply, and adds a second finger inside, hearing that long, pleasured groan from you that he lives for. As your wetness increases, so does his desire to be in you. He pulls you on top of him, gripping your hips with an urgency you understand fully. You’re still both careful of his size, and he clutches your waist tightly; trying to control his desire as you inch slowly onto him, allowing him to feel every stretch, pulse and contraction you have. You know what you’re doing, he knows what you’re doing, and he throws his head back, arching his neck as he laughs with utter pleasure at your teasing, “ _Christ woman, you’re gonna kill me!_ ” he manages breathlessly as he takes charge; hitching his knees up, gripping your hips and pulling you down onto him over and over, watching you as you stretch towards your climax. You dig your fingers into his chest as he rolls into you, his strong hands controlling every movement, and as you feel the wave build, he brings his thumb to your bundle of nerves, and you come undone completely with one loud sigh. He pulls out of you quickly as his own orgasm hits; spilling himself up across his stomach. You help him clean up before he follows you to the shower.

Thanksgiving arrives, and despite his complaints of not seeing you, Arthur is sure to keep in touch via his cell, which provides a welcome distraction from your parents trying to take over the cooking as well as talking non-stop about people you don’t know.  
The timing of the entire dinner is completely thrown off by your utter lack of prep, thanks to a visit from Arthur early on the morning your folks were set to arrive. It’s now 4pm and dinner is still an hour away.  
“You know, honey, we could’ve done this for you. We just wanted to see your beautiful home, you didn’t have to cook.”  
“I know, Mom,” you sigh, “but here we are.”  
“You know, your brother and Michelle were hoping to come down too, but Michelle’s parents set them up with a cute little break in the lakes.”  
“Well isn’t that just peachy?”  
“When are you getting yourself someone, honey?”  
“ _Mom,_ is this really necessa-”  
“Karen’s son, Donny, is sing-”  
“She don’t want Donny, he’s a wet lettuce! She’s fine on her own! Leave her be! It’s Thanksgivin’ for Christ’s sake!” your father calls from the living room, watching the game as you continue to try and cook around your fussing mother.  
“I just want you to be _happy sweetheart_.”  
Suddenly there’s a loud knock at the door, “ _I’LL GET IT!_ ” your father calls, heaving himself out of the couch, “Hi there! Can I help you, son?”  
A slightly inebriated Arthur stares awkwardly at an older man at your door, “Oh! Errr, hello there! I-”  
“Who is it?” the woman joins him, “May we help you?”  
“Well, erm, I was just comin’ by to say hello to Y/N? I’m her-errrr- neighbour.”  
You rush out to the door in a mix of irritation, embarrassment and joy to see him, “ _Mom, Dad,_ this is my neighbour, Mister Morgan,” you see his eyes twinkle slightly as you call him that, and you work hard to stifle your smirk, “he’s the man who did so much work on this house.”  
“Oh! Well hello!” your father grips Arthur’s hand and shakes it tightly, “ _You’re_ the talented craftsman, huh?”  
“Well – ah – I wouldn’t put it like that so much,” Arthur blushes a little.  
“Oh nonsense!” your mother beams, “this house is _beautiful_! You’re a very talented man!”  
“ _He’s certainly good with his hands_ ,” you mutter as you lock eyes with your visitor.  
“I want you to know, Mister Morgan,” your father begins with earnest, “Y/N was brought up right, she knows how to do things for herself, so don’t be lettin’ her take up all your time, and use you up… She hasn’t been, has she?”  
“Not nearly enough I’d say, sir,” he grins at you, “Listen, I-I’m sorry for disturbin‘ you all, I just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgivin’, and say that I have some friends and family over if you’d care to join us for a drink?”  
”Well as kind as that would be, Mister Morgan, I’m afraid we haven’t even eaten yet,” your mother goads.  
“Yes, though Y/N is fully self-sufficient, she’s not one for bein’ on time much!” your father joins in.  
“Oh! Well, not to worry, you all have a nice evenin’.” Arthur nods and heads back to his home.  
“What a nice young man,” your mother muses as you shut the door, “I don’t see a ring on _his_ finger either!”  
You grab your phone immediately:  
What the hell was that?  
Just a friendly hello.  
You knew exactly what you were doing  
Haha can’t a guy wish you a Happy Thanksgiving? Especially one so good with his hands x  
You’re a bad man, Arthur Morgan  
I can be when the time calls for it xx

***

Straight after Thanksgiving, the Elk Refuge sets up to sell Christmas Trees to raise money. Now that the weather had set in, and his work had dropped off, Arthur offered to help out there. It was nice being able to get see each other more through the day, and you certainly didn’t mind watching him lift 9ft+ Christmas trees onto his shoulder to take to customers’ cars. He was usually dressed in a thick padded flannel jacket, jeans, work boots and thick black gloves. It did make you laugh to see some of the men walk either quickly ahead or hang back from him as he manoeuvred their purchases with relative ease.  
It was the day before Christmas Eve; your last day at work before heading up to your family home for Christmas. You only worked the morning, and Arthur had joined you at the refuge to try and get as much time with you before your flight the next day. As you turn up from your check you see him fawning over some reindeer that had been brought in for the children to fuss, and you get an idea.  
“Having fun there, Arthur?”  
“These fellas are awesome!” he coos at them as he scratches the ear of one.  
“Would you like a VIP tour of some of the area?”  
“Now?”  
“Sure! C’mon! I’ll escort you myself.” The two of you clamber into the big work 4x4 and set off back across the areas you had started your morning checks. The snow is thick, but there’s sturdy enough tyre tracks to keep you powering through the landscape. You stop at the edge of some forest and get out, “Here,” you pass him some binoculars, “look down by the tree edge…” you guide his gaze and let him zoom in on the small herd of Elk gathered together by the treeline.  
“ _Beautiful!_ ” Arthur murmurs, and he stays watching them for some time, “… _wow!_ That’s really somethin’.” After some time traveling around spotting some of the other wildlife, you both make your way back home.  
As you pull into your drive, and jump down from the jeep, Arthur rounds the front of the car to meet you, wrapping his arms around you, “You all packed for tomorrow?”   
“Of course,” you beam, “I don’t want to get in trouble with you for wasting our time together.” You stick your tongue out at him.  
“ _Good_ ,” he chuckles, as he begins walking towards his house, “You comin’ over now, or-”  
‘ ** _Whump_** ’ as Arthur turns back to you, a large snowball hits him square in the face.  
He wipes the snow away, “ _Ohhhhh_ ,” the corner of his mouth curls up darkly, “ _so it’s like that, huh?_ ”  
“ _Arthur_ …!” you chuckle in a panic, “ _No!_ You wouldn’t!”  
“Is that right?” he growls as he marches towards you, “ _That don’t seem fair to me, Darlin’_ …”  
You back away hurriedly and start laughing, “No! Arthur! I’m sorry!” you’re almost hysterical as your anticipation takes over.  
He jogs to grab you and tackles you to the ground, “Maybe you shouldn’t play games you can’t win!” He traps you underneath him and scrubs your face with snow, laughing as he hears you squeal with laughter trying to writhe to get away, “You ain’t escapin’ me, Y/N!” he chuckles at you spluttering, and he wipes your face clear before leaning down and kissing you deeply, “ _Look at you._ ” his voice rumbles, “ _All wet_.” He gets off you, bends down and lifts you onto his shoulder as you continue to laugh and squeal and struggle, “Let’s warm you up, hmm?”  
He opens his front door as you continue to hang off his shoulder, “You alright up there, Darlin’?” he slaps your ass as he steps through his door.  
“Are you going to put me down?”  
“I weren’t plannin’ on it, no.” he chuckles, and walks you straight up the stairs to his bedroom, “ _You can’t be trusted on your own_.” He steps through to his bedroom and flings you down on the bed, fully clothed. You look up as he stands over you and begins to peel off his layers, you get up to remove your boots and he stops you, “nah-ah-ah, you have to stay there. I ain’t done teachin’ you a lesson.”  
“But I’m getting your bed all wet.”  
“That was always gonna happen anyway,” he smirks dirtily as he kicks off his work boots, flings his wet coat down and pulls off his shirt and jeans, “Let’s get you outta those cold things, huh?” He pulls off your boots, “Sit up.” You obey him, shuffling to the edge of the bed where he peels your jacket from your shoulders and drops it off. The chill from your snow-soaked clothes cause you to start shivering, and Arthur takes that as his cue to remove your jeans and t-shirt quickly. He looks at your skin tight and puckering from the chill as he stands above you, in between your legs, “You need warmin’ up?” you nod your head, “Maybe shouldn’t have thrown that snowball, huh?” he raises an eyebrow as you snigger at him through the cold then he smiles and bends down to your eye level, walking his hands up your thighs and coaxing you backwards onto the bed, “hmmm, you really are cold,” he muses as he runs his body against yours. You immediately feel yourself flood with warmth as his skin touches your own; he’s always warm to the touch, and you melt into him as he envelopes you with the sheer breadth of his torso; he has you pinned underneath his chest and he looks down at you with the gentlest smile, “ _Better?_ ” he asks quietly.  
“Getting there,” you tease, “though I’m sure I could be warmer.”  
He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you lightly with the swiftest hint of his tongue against your own, before he pulls away and grins at your dejected expression, “I told ya, you need to be taught a lesson.” He mumbles across your skin as he drags his lips tantalisingly over you, “I wouldn’t be a very good teacher if you got exactly what _you_ wanted after that display outside, would I?”  
“I guess not,” you whisper as he continues to run his mouth along every available inch of your neck, his chest still pinning your arms to you. He shifts his weight to free you a little before taking your hands and pinning them at your sides with his own, then he continues to explore your body slowly as he lowers himself to your hips, “You see,” he mutters his hot breath against you, “if you’d behaved yourself, _seein’ as it’s our last day together before Christmas_ ,” he inches his mouth to the crease at your thigh, “you’d be gettin’ somethin’ a little more… _rewardin’._ ” You can barely breathe from pure need as the ache at your centre threatens to end you, and with every squirm you make, his grip on your hands tightens.  
“ _…Arthur I-_ ”  
“ _Instead_ …” he kisses the skin below your belly button and raises his eyes to look at you, “You’re just kinda stuck here, _until I think you’ve had enough_.” He runs the tip of his nose across to your other hip and sighs out a long, warm exhale which causes you to whimper, “Or I think you’re truly sorry.” You feel him smile against your skin as your knees press against his broad shoulders.  
“I am, I’m sorry.” You groan, but he’s not listening; he’s letting go of your hands and running his own down your ribs, to your hips as he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed and drags you to him, pulling your underwear off roughly before he begins lightly kissing the top of your inner thigh.  
“ _I’m sorry!_ ” you strain, running your hands desperately through his hair; trying to guide him to your core.  
“ _Hmmmm_ ,” he hums against you, coaxing another noise of desire, “I guess I could believe you.” The bass of his voice ripples through you as he parts you softly with his tongue; the heat of his breath at your core sends you into overdrive and you arch your back off the bed as he chuckles smugly at your reaction before he tastes you again and again, bringing his hands to your lower back and lifting your ass for a deeper angle. As he feels your intensity increase, he flips you over onto your front, and crawls you back onto the bed, running his tongue up your spine, and kissing along your shoulders as he slides a hand around to your front, which takes the place of his tongue, and using the other hand he pulls you against him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He plunges two fingers into you while massaging your sweet spot with his thumb as he grinds against you. His breath gets shaky as he feels your hips quicken and he matches the speed you’re dictating, encouraging louder noises from you. As the pulse becomes more overpowering, you find yourself both chasing your pleasure, and begging for him to be inside you fully. He turns you around and lowers you down; your slick makes him enter you quickly, and you cry out with desire as you feel his thickness against your walls, and immediately feel the urgent, desperate hurried onslaught of your orgasm rise and crash against him, causing him to push and slam against you harder and faster, until he has to pull out, spilling himself onto the bed. He buries his head between your breasts as he laughs breathlessly, “I really gotta start bein’ careful again.” He kisses your cleavage lightly before making it up to your lips.

You both shower and make your way downstairs. You’re in one of his formal shirts as your only clothes are still drying from the snow fight. You go to the kitchen and make coffee as Arthur slumps into one of the recliners in his den, and switches the TV to an old Christmas movie.  
“It’s snowin’ again!” he calls as you join him, coffees in hand, “maybe you’ll get lucky and your flight’ll get cancelled tomorrow.”  
“You mean you’ll get lucky,” you joke as he takes both coffees from you.  
“I thought I just did.” He jokes, “Come here,” he takes your arm and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping you both in a blanket as you sit and watch the snow fall, “I’m gonna miss you, Y/N.”  
“It’s only two days, Arthur,” you chuckle.  
“I know.” He says with a slight sadness, “Don’t mean I won’t miss you.”  
“Why?” you laugh, “You’ll have people here.”  
“But they ain’t you, Darlin’.” He looks at you, his green eyes bright and smiling, “I love you. I think I always have.”


	3. The Right One, Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been just over a year since you and Arthur became more than friends.

Your breath quickens as you hear it; the quiet whine of brakes as Arthur’s pickup pulls into his driveway; it had been nearly three weeks since you’d seen him – he’d gone to work on a job across the furthest side of Cheyenne; it had been an uncharacteristic call in December, but it had been an emergency and the VDL team had been roped in along with a few other teams to work on some houses that had fallen behind in refurbishments, and their owners were due to move in before Christmas. He had managed to speak to you daily, even if just for minutes, but it sounded like they were all working the hours in the world. You had been working so hard yourself readying the refuge and the ranches for your winter break – which Arthur had made you promise you’d take this year – that you weren’t overly lonely, and his job through the spring had him away enough that you had become used to his irregular work hours, and sometimes it was nice to have your bed to yourself again, seeing as he wasn’t quite used to sharing; leaving his limbs to sprawl across you and the mattress regardless of whether you were at his place or your own, but this three weeks had been really tough; he always sounded exhausted when he called, and this had been a last-minute call to action, leaving you both a little unprepared for goodbyes.  
You listen for the turn of his key at your front door, and hear the heavy sigh and tired slope of his feet as he drags his way to the living room. He fills the doorway, his hair is a mess of fluffy blonde locks, his face covered in a thick brush of dark beard, all of him was coated in white snowflakes, and his face was glowing a strong heat-flushed pink as his skin acclimatised to the warmth of your home. He stands there; a trickle of water pooling at the soles of this thick work boots as his jeans cling to him, and then you see it; the widest, brightest, most elated smile stretch across his face as he pulls himself to his full height, his arms open wide, “Hello sweetheart.” He grumbles happily.  
You leap up from the couch and fling yourself at him. His deep gravelly chuckle hums beside your ear as he pulls you against him, “It’s snowin’ pretty bad.”  
“I can tell that,” you laugh into his chest as the dampness of his shirt begins to seep through your own.  
He pulls away slightly to plant a soft kiss against your lips, and looks down towards your chest with a dirty little smirk, “Guess cold wet weather ain’t always a bad thing.” He runs a hand up to your cheek and pulls you back to his mouth, parting your lips with his tongue and pushing a heavy sigh through his nose before resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.  
“Beer?”  
“ _Beer would be good_.” With his eyes still closed, he smiles and gives your ass one tight grasp which forces your hips to push firmly against his.  
“ _Well you better let me go get it for you then._ ” You purr against his lips. He gives you a quick, light peck on the mouth and with a grimace of reluctance, sets you free; sending you away with a smack of your ass cheek.  
“ _AND YOU BETTER NOT THINK ABOUT SITTING ON THAT COUCH OF MINE BEFORE YOU’VE GOT CHANGED, MISTER!_ ” you yell from the kitchen just as Arthur is one deep squat away from sitting down.  
“ _Fiiiiine_.” He whines as he heaves back to standing. He goes to your room and rifles through your closet and pulls out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt of his, “It’s lucky I don’t mind you thievin’ my clothes for your own ends!” He shuffles back into the living room as you stand waiting with his beer, “Am I suitably attired for my ass to make acquaintance with your couch now, _Your Highness_?” a lop-sided smirk peels out from the corner of his mouth as you laugh and hand him a beer and he drains half of it in one go.  
“I guess it will have to do.” You tease as you sit beside him, lean your back against his side and wrap his arm over you.  
“What’re you doin’?”  
“What do you mean? I’m sitting next to the man I love!”  
He laughs an almost exasperated sigh, lifts his arm from your grasp, wraps it around your waist and pulls you onto his lap, “Though I shouldn’t really do this.” He mumbles through his beer.  
“Why? Is my ass not suitably attired to make acquaintance with your lap?”  
“Nope,” he states very matter-of-factly, “we’re both wearin’ far too much for it to be suitable.”  
You both laugh as he pulls you in tightly with one squeeze of his arm, and he rests his head on your shoulder.  
“C’mon _Lover Man_ ,” you laugh as you remove the bottle from his hand, “I think we should get you some rest.”

It’s early when the weight of Arthur’s right hand side slumped across you wakes you up. This is the last day before you both travel to your parents’ for Christmas. He’d met them earlier in the year and you had received glowing reports from them; your father stating he knew you’d pick a man like that because he can do everything, your mother just relieved you found someone, “ _and he’s very respectful for such a handsome one_!” she had confirmed, this was going to be quite an overwhelming affair for Arthur, however, as it was a big family gathering to meet the man that had the wherewithal to put up with you.  
The heat pouring off him mixed with the dead weight of his sleeping limbs was beginning to make you uncomfortable, and you wriggle underneath him; wrestling to be a little bit free again. As you give up, you turn to see one green, beady eye smiling at you from the pillow.  
“Good morning.”  
Without a word, Arthur shifts himself a little, and drags you almost underneath him. A tired, soft smile plays on his face as he lowers himself down to your mouth, running the tip of his nose against yours before he lands at your lips. His skin is warm and soft against you as he lightly toys with your tongue; only flicking the very edge of his own into your mouth. He pulls away from you and runs a hand down your cheek, “Mornin’.” His morning voice is husky and even deeper, and your body throbs as you hear it; how you’ve missed him. He nuzzles down onto your neck and rolls onto his side behind you, pulling you tightly against him as he presses his hardness against you. You smile to yourself as his right hand runs over the skin of your torso, “I thought you’d still be sleeping.”  
“ _you want me sleepin’, you best start sleepin’ in clothes_.” He muttered into your hair before he lightly grazes his thick, soft lips along the strained muscle in your neck. You press your ass firmly against him as your back arches and you run a hand up across his beard. He coaxes you around to face him and pushes a deep, firm, longing kiss onto you, causing you to whimper with desire as his hands grip your back and you move your own into his soft hair. Suddenly he stops and leans back from you; his eyes staring almost through you though his face is calm.  
“What?” you look at him suspiciously.  
“Nothin’.” He smiles and pulls a thick wisp of hair from your face.  
“No, seriously, what is it?”  
He doesn’t answer but pulls you back for another deep kiss, though it’s shorter this time, “I better get across the way, get changed.”  
“ _Now?! Are you crazy??_ ”  
He chuckles as he prizes himself away from you and goes to heave himself out of bed, “It ain’t for long, but I gotta shower and-”  
“There’s a shower here.”  
“ _And_ I gotta pack.”  
“You don’t need clothes!” you whine, kneeling up behind him, running your hands up his back and feeling his body tense as you kiss along his shoulders.  
“ _Y/N…_ ” he whispers, “you’re a bad influence…” he quickly whips around, pins your body against his and kisses you passionately; pushing you down onto the bed and hungrily locks his tongue with yours before wrenching himself away and hurriedly pulling on his sweat pants and t-shirt with a laugh before you can stop him.  
“And you can be frustratingly well behaved!” you flounce; lying back on the bed, trying your hardest to entice him with your posed, naked body.  
He freezes; breathless and tortured staring at you; lost in the view for a moment before he brings himself back to reality, “You have got two options right now, Y/N,” he starts firmly, which only causes you to want him more, “either I can stay here right now, have a little fun, before I have to run around to finish bein’ ready for tomorrow,” he raises a hand to shush you before you can agree to that, “ _OR_ I can go now, be fast, and come back to tire us both out properly for the rest of the day.” He watches you with his faux stern expression that always makes you need him more. You see his eyes subtly rake their way over your body as you squirm with urgency and indecision.  
“ _Fine! Fiiiiine!_ ” you agree, “but be quick!” A huge grin flashes across Arthur’s face as he pecks a kiss on your forehead.

Christmas with your family had been mainly pain-free, and Arthur managed it all without much difficulty, though you were sure he was finding the amount of compliments about himself more than embarrassing.  
“Thank you for being there with me. I know you’ve changed your plans this year.”  
“Wherever you were I was gonna be, Y/N.” He smiles as he drives you both back from the airport, “Besides. We only postponed the thing, and this way it means I don’t need to crash around like I usually do. Instead it’s drinks ‘n’ snacks and that’s all they need.”  
You look on at him and smile, thinking back to the way he ran around at Thanksgiving. You had spent it together – your first as a couple – and watched the organised chaos unfold as he tried to fit 12 people (including you both) into his home for a feast; chairs, additional end tables, and a myriad of cutlery appeared from guests. Somehow, it all worked; you helped Arthur in the kitchen and managed to navigate similar jokes and questions he had just endured at the hands of your family. You met Bess and Hosea; who decided to make a detour to Jackson, Wyoming, once hearing the news that their Nephew had a new flame in his life. They had been kind and welcoming; two of the sweetest people you could meet – and they were fiercely proud of the man Arthur was, and it made you glow to be a part of his world.  
“It was fun seein’ your old room.” He teases, “Shame I couldn’t find any old diaries of yours.”  
“Oh god!” you joke, “You’d be horrified at the lack of excitement in my life.”  
He looks at you knowingly as he pulls into his driveway, “I’m glad I managed to fix that for you.” He flicks a dirty little smile at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself squirming as your skin blushes.  
“You could keep up that good work now if you want?” you lean across to him and press your mouth against his and you hear him sigh heavily as he pulls you onto his lap to kiss you deeper. He runs his hands into your hair and leans into to you as your passion increases. Three days of almost church-like decorum at your parents’ house, while being in very close proximity; sleeping in your old small double bed is not an easy way to live, and it’s only the accidental press of the car’s horn by Arthur’s knee, that stops you both from continuing to undress there in the cab of his pickup. With reluctance you both shift to get out of the truck, Arthur rushes to try and get the cases and gifts out the back as quickly as possible. Between you, you manage to gather it all and get it into the hallway of his home.  
You laugh at the pile by the front door and he steps to you; looking down at you with pure joy on his face, running his nose against the side of your own, he takes a deep breath and kisses you again; firmly and gently all at once. His lips are soft and warm. He grins as he parts from you, bends down and whips your legs from under you; swinging them onto his forearm as his other arm supports you around your waist. With a boyish grin and no words, he carries you upstairs to his room, gently lying you on the bed, “I love you Y/N.”  
“I love you too.”  
He shuts his eyes and beams as if he had never heard you say it before, and lies beside you with a coy chuckle. He looks at you and runs his hand gently across your cheek.  
  



	4. The Right One Pt. 2

“I like her, Arthur. She’s a good woman. You always pick good ones.”  
Arthur chuckles as he looks down at his 58 year old Aunt now she has giddily made her way to him from a conversation with you, “Well I’m surprised to hear that, Bessie, considerin’ the situation I ended up in last time.”  
“Mary _is_ a good woman, Arthur,” she knocks his arm with an affectionate love-tap, “she just wasn’t the right one for you.” The two look back across the room full of people towards you as you stand and laugh at some story Hosea is telling you, “ _Y/N is right for you_.”  
“So everyone keeps tellin’ me.” He smiles warmly in your direction as he sips his drink.  
It was New Year’s Eve, and as he had missed his usual Christmas gathering to be with you, you both decided a get together on December 31st was a good compromise, except it lead to the two of you being constantly at opposite ends of his house as swathes of people wanted to know more about you, about how Arthur and you were doing, and so on and so on.  
“So… _How was Christmas?_ ”  
“Christmas was fine.” He stares warily at his Aunt as her eyes sparkle mischievously.  
“And how were her parents?”  
“ _Fiiinnne_.” His eyes reply with the same sparkle of secrecy as he sips his beer.  
“And did you speak to them?”  
“It was their house, Bess, I couldn’t easily avoid it!” A mock glare spread across her face which told him to answer her question properly, he sighs and drops his head, “As much as I know how she don’t need that, and would probably roll her eyes if she knew, _yes,_ I spoke to ‘em.”  
“Sometimes it’s good to be a little old fashioned, Arthur.”  
“That’s my thought.”  
“… _And?!_ ”  
He tilts his head and squints with bemused reflection, “ _Well_ , her momma cried… Which I decided to take as a compliment.”  
“And her father?”  
“Her Dad shook my hand until my arm nearly fell off… In fact,” he laughs, “they were both so happy I began to worry she’s so much trouble they’ll be glad to be rid of her!”  
Bess beams, “There’s no woman worth anything if she doesn’t have a little fire in her soul.”  
“Oh don’t you worry she’s got plenty of that!” he continues to gaze over at you, lost for a moment as the world around you fades.  
“So… Have you got a plan…?”  
Hosea’s voice snaps Arthur back as he appears next to Bessie with an arm around her shoulders, “Plan?”  
“What you’re gonna do.”  
Arthur shuffles uncomfortably, “I guess… I mean this is different.”  
“Different how?”  
“I feel ridiculous, it ain’t like I’m a kid, and she’s not ever been one for surprises. I dunno if she’d even want it or say yes.”  
His Aunt and Uncle sigh with exasperation and Bess grabs Arthur’s wrist, “Of _course_ she’ll say yes... She will say yes, and you will put this on her finger.” Bess looks around shiftily before pulling something out of her handbag and forces a small tattered black box in Arthur’s hand.  
“ _What’s this?!_ ” Arthur whispers in a panic.  
“I was going to give this to you anyway, ever since we first heard about Y/N, might as well be now… It was your Grandmother’s, Arthur.” Bess smiles softly at him, her hand still wrapped around the box in his palm, “She left it to your Mom…” her eyes begin to water slightly as Hosea pulls her a little tighter, “And your Mom told me to hang onto it for you until, “ _Until he finds a woman who can wrangle him!_ ” is how she put it.” She hiccoughs a little sad chuckle as she squeezes her Nephew’s hand before relinquishing it.  
“ _Aunt Bessie!_ You’re tellin’ me you kept this from me all these years, even with before?” he chuckles.  
“Well, I didn’t want it going on the wrong hand.”  
“You didn’t think to tell me that at the time?” he mutters as he lifts the box lid carefully and peers at the antique ring as it sparkles delicately in the confines of its cushioned holder.  
“Would you have listened if I did?”  
“Probably not.” He huffs a small breath of amusement, snapping the box shut and shoving it quickly in his pocket as you walk towards the group with a smile.  
“What are you three plotting over here?” you joke as all three faces stare overly calmly at you.  
“Oh nothing my dear!” Hosea takes the reins of the conversation as he looks towards Arthur’s dumbstruck face trying to remember how to be normal, “we’re just saying that we should make tracks, _you don’t want to see Bess drunk_!” he winks at you and laughs as he receives a slap from his wife.  
“Awww that’s a shame!” you chuckle, “It sounds like something everyone should see at least once in their life!”  
“Maybe one day, Y/N,” Bessie winks.  
“… Wha-?”  
“Time to go then!” Arthur loudly interrupts, “I’ll walk you to the door.” He leans and kisses you gently on the lips, “be back shortly.” He marches ahead of Bess and Hosea who are hugging you goodbye, and hurriedly scrabbles around for a secure hiding place for the ring, choosing to shove it in the drawer of a table by the front door.  
The night is a big hit, even when a vaguely inebriated Arthur loudly declares he will not be making this another annual thing. The countdown to midnight comes, and he makes sure he is beside you, “I ain’t kissed anyone at midnight in a while.”  
“You’ve normally got past kissing by then,” you purr at him as you pull at his shirt.  
“That’s a point! I should tell them all to get lost now!” he jokes as the crowd counts.  
“5… 4… 3… 2… 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”  
You don’t hear the cheering, you don’t hear them begin to sing “Auld Lang Syne”, there’s only you and Arthur, locked in an embrace beyond any way he’s held you before; there’s a protection to it, and you melt into him as he kisses you for what seems the rest of your days.

The harsh reality of the next morning isn’t quite so magical – the house is resembling a trash dump, and you and Arthur are nursing small hangovers; both silently comforting the other as you feel his body temperature spike to unreasonable levels.  
“Naahhhh,” he croaks, “I gotta move, I’ll go make breakfast… _somehow_.” He drags himself to the bathroom to wash and heads downstairs, leaving you to try and decide whether showering is physically possible.  
As he gets downstairs he scans the house’s destruction and sighs. Suddenly he remembers the table by the front door and hurries over to the drawer. Pulling it open he picks the box out and turns it over and over. He runs a hand down his face and sighs with a small amount of terror.  
“You alright?”  
“ _Jeeesus woman!_ ” he jumps and turns, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets, “You can really creep when you wanna.”  
“What are you doing?” you ask as you towel dry your hair  
“Nothin’, just thought I’d lost my keys,” he clears his throat and marches back towards the kitchen, hands still in his pockets, “you want breakfast?”  
“… _Sure_ …” you follow him to the kitchen, “You have been acting very odd lately, Mister Morgan.”  
“Have I now?”  
“Yes.”  
He stares at you; blank faced, “…Breakfast?”  
“I already said yes!” you laugh, “Jesus! I’ll leave you to it.” You shake your head, grab a garbage bag from under the sink and start tidying the mess.  
With a sigh of relief, Arthur begins making his famous grilled cheese hangover cure, smiling as he hears you hum lightly to yourself as you go about your business. Every so often he looks back to you and taps the box in his pocket.

After breakfast, you go and sit with him in the Den and look out across the snow as you sit on his lap. He’s looking at you wistfully; a dumb, happy smile plastered across his face.  
“What’s that look for?”  
“You know, it’s been over a year since we sat here and I told you I loved you?”  
“ _Yes_ ,” you lean your face towards his, “and I think you’ll recall I was quick to reply the same.”  
“It lead to you almost breakin' this chair.” His eyes glinted as he squeezed your ass.  
“It took both of us to nearly break this chair, _thank you_.”  
He chuckles briefly as he stares out the window, “I forget I only met you 18 months ago. Seems like I’ve known you my whole life.”  
“Sorry I make 18 months seem so long!” you tease.  
“You know what I mean.” He grumbles; a little hurt, which encourages you to lean onto his mouth and push a deep, soft kiss onto his lips; turning his pout to a smile.  
“I feel the same way.”  
“I….” he frowns at his own reluctance to admit this, “I never thought this would happen. I mean, every day I wake up, and I see you and it’s like… I dunno, this sounds stupid, but it’s like everythin’ is right with the world.” He turns to look at you; his green eyes shining against the sun as it streams through the window, “You bein’ here makes everythin’ make sense.”  
You grin at him and shuffle to be able to rest your head on his shoulder, “I’m glad I can be of help, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”  
A quiet chuckle rumbles through his chest as he moves your damp hair away from his face and nuzzles the side of his head against yours. He feels the corner of the ring box dig into his thigh, “You could marry me.”  
You freeze; not entirely sure you heard him right, “… What?”  
“… You could help me out by marryin’ me, Y/N.”  
You sit up and he laughs as you gawp at him open-mouthed while he pulls a small ring box from his pocket.  
“It don’t need to be a big thing, or fancy or with anyone else but us if that’s what you want.” He mumbles as he keeps his eyes on the box in his hands, “you don’t even need to take my name if that’s a thing… Just… I just love you.” He unclicks the box lid and looks at you sheepishly, “And – well – I thought it would be nice… It won’t change how I feel if you say no-”  
“Of course I will, you ridiculous man!” you laugh through tears as you grab his face. The realisation of your answer spreads across his features and a wide toothy grin stretches out, “ _you will?_ ”  
“YES!”  
He wraps his strong arms tightly around you and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply through his own laughter before pulling away, remembering he needs to actually place the ring on your finger; it just fits and he falls back against the chair with a sigh of utter relief as you collapse onto his chest.  
“Where are we gonna live?” you suddenly realise.  
“ _Well_ ,” he pulls you against him tightly, “I don’t see why I couldn’t be with you over at your place. You love it, I loved fixin’ it up.”  
“But all the work in this place!”  
“This is a house, Y/N,” he muttered into your hair before planting a soft kiss on the top of your head, “My home is where you are.”


	5. Good Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short One-Shot for the final chapter of this Modern AU.

You sit down, exhausted from a day of working and helping lug boxes from Arthur’s home to yours. You’re still not entirely sure how you are going to fit his things in your one floor house and be able to keep your own belongings around, but “ _We’ll make it work_ ” seemed to be Arthur’s new catchphrase.

You smile to yourself as you hear him humming along to a playlist of his favourite songs you had made him, as he unpacks and flattens boxes in the study, and finally begin to relax just as the song you’ve picked for your first dance starts to filter through the hallway.  
It doesn’t take longer than 30 seconds but you know he’s there already, and as you turn you see him leaning against the doorframe to the front room, a big broad smile stretched across his thick lips.  
“What are you grinning for, Mister Morgan?” You tease, “I doubt it’s because you’ve got all your stuff unpacked. You’re worse than me when I moved in!”  
“I know, and I ain’t got anyone helpin' me neither!” he chuckles at your faux-offended face, then stretches out his arm towards you, “C’mere.”  
“… _Why_?”  
“Just come on.” He walks up to you and opens his palm as an offering. You take it with a suspicious chuckle as he pulls you effortlessly to him, and holds you close. It takes him a moment of furrowed brow concentration, but he softly lifts your left hand to his shoulder, takes your right hand in his, and plants his other at your waist. He huffs with a satisfied smile and looks at you as he begins to sway.  
“You know,” he mumbles against your hair, “it won’t be long before we gotta do this in front of a room of people.”  
“We don’t have to do it at all if you don’t want to.” You sigh as you rest your cheek against the top of his chest.  
“ _Now why would I not wanna do this?”_ his voice rumbles that soothing reassuring tone he always uses when you say something negative, “Just need practice is all.”  
He squeezes you tighter to him and sways with the music, letting you both enjoy the moment.  
“You’ve always done so much for me, Arthur. For everybody.” You say quietly, almost in a whisper, and you pull back a little to look at him, “You deserve everything in the world.”  
Arthur’s green eyes shine as he smiles at you, pulling your arm against him and tightening his hand over your own, “I don’t need the world,” he presses his forehead lightly against yours, “I got my everythin' right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If people have enjoyed this, and would like more chapters in this canon, I may consider it in the future.
> 
> But for now, I hope you enjoyed this take on a modern high-honour Arthur Morgan, and hope you enjoy my other fics.


End file.
